


antiparallel elongation (double helix)

by mnabokov



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Silicon Valley AU lmao, Voyeurism, pretty much pwp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnabokov/pseuds/mnabokov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Xavier,” Erik greets indifferently, not meeting Charles’ eyes and Charles’ breath hitches – just slightly – when he replies, “Good morning, Mr. Lehnsherr.”</p><p>And that’s it.</p><p>Erik keeps walking, turning around the corner, and Charles tightens his grip on his briefcase, mentally tells himself to get it together. </p><p>Professional, Charles says to himself, keep it professional. </p><p>-</p><p>Wherein Erik - cold, detached and impossibly good-looking head of the department - and Charles - 24 and the newest employee at the engineering company X-Trusion - struggle with their growing attraction with each other and what it could eventually mean for the future of the company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

In April 1953, James Watson and Francis Crick surprised the scientific world with a succinct, one-page paper in the British Journal _Nature_. The paper reported their molecular model for DNA: the double helix, which has since become the symbol of molecular biology. The beauty of the model was that the structure of DNA suggested the basic mechanism of its replication.   
  
\- from Campbell Reece’s _Biology_ , Seventh Edition  
  
  
Prologue  
  
The first thing that Charles realizes about the company is the sea of severe faces.   
  
The second thing he notices is that every person he passes is dressed impeccably. Abruptly, Charles feels a surge of relief that he chose to don his silver suit.   
  
The third? Most of them are probably in their mid- to late-thirties. Even with his suit, he feels slightly out of place, as the stream of older employees rush in and out of the building.   
  
X-Trusion lies deep in the heart of the city, amidst an ocean of gray buildings, glass walls, and burgeoning companies. On the outside, it had looked no different than the dozen other companies that Charles had passed on his way to work; all were sleek, modern, and bustling with employees.  
  
On the inside, however, the main lobby is spacious, allowing for the steady traffic of workers in and out of the building, up and down the various floors. Light streams in through the glass walls, reflects off the marble floor and white walls. Charles tightens his grip on his briefcase.  
  
“Excuse me,” he says. He pushes past a throng of chattering businessmen in pinstripe suits.   
  
Maneuvering quickly through the well-lit lobby, Charles manages to slide into a crowded elevator just before it closes.   
  
“What floor?” a gruff voice calls out. Charles doesn’t have enough room to turn around and face the speaker.   
  
“Third, please.”  
  
A quiet ding fills the elevator as someone presses three, accompanying the mechanical humming of the elevator and the quiet murmur of someone in the corner.   
  
Two floors and quite a bit of shuffling around the crowded elevator later, Charles finds himself stepping off of the lift, following two middle-aged women wearing pencil skirts. Perhaps, in a sea of strangers and an ocean of severe faces, this is why Angel’s face – both familiar and young – stands out even more than usual.   
  
“Charles!” Angel calls out. She nods warmly to the two women as she passes them before coming over to Charles. The two had just met last week, not far from X-Trusion, during Charles’ interview.  
  
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your time in San Jose,” she says brightly.   
  
“So far, yes. Although, I’m more used to the quiet at Oxford.”   
  
“You’ll get used to it,” Angel reassures him, leading him down the hallway. They round a corner and head into Angel’s office. She smiles, “Just some paperwork to review before you’re put to work.”   
  
As Angel picks up a folder from her desk, she begins, “As you know, I don’t work directly for this department, but I handle a lot of the paperwork and finances that come in and out of this floor, so I pretty much report everything to Mr. Lehnsherr.” She hands him the folder. “So if you have any questions that aren’t directly related to any of the work you have – anything about the company or Mr. Lehnsherr – then you can ask me.”  
  
Charles flips through the manila folder. The first page reads,   
  
_X-Trusion is an American mechanical engineering company based in San Jose and Silicon Valley, specializing in metalworking processes such as extrusion, for which it is named, sintering, and 3D printing to produce many and various commodities. These products range from alloys used in spacecraft components to biocompatible prostheses. Founded in 2003 by Mr. Heston Mehigan, X-Trusion is currently run by its Council of Department Directors, which is overseen by Mr. Mehigan and a board of regents. Notable directors include Ms. Emma Frost, Ms. Moira McTaggert, and Mr. Erik Lehnsherr, who run the social relations department, aerospace department, and biomedical department, respectively. Currently, the company is working towards expansion into the field of bioengineering._  
  
“I think we should have a tour of the building first,” Angel interrupts brightly. “I think the others would be pleased to see another employee who isn’t over thirty-five.”  
  
“That sounds fantastic,” Charles says, and means it.  
  
“This whole building is pretty much administration,” explains Angel as they leave her office, “X-Trusion has a few heavy-duty production factories out past the city – that’s where the actual extrusion and sintering takes place – but the only hands-on stuff here is downstairs. Mehigan had a whole level dug out for experiments, so that’s where the labs are.” She waves a vague, all-encompassing hand. “Essentially, the biomedical department is split in half: the paperwork happens here, on floor three, and the research happens in the labs. Your office is on this floor, but really, you’re kind of the bridge between lab and desk.”  
  
The stream of workers has lessened slightly by the time Charles and Angel reach the elevators. The one they enter is only half full.   
  
“Labs,” Angel says before anyone can ask. A woman presses the button with an L inscribed on it.  
  
While the lobby of X-Trusion is well-lit and airy, the biomedical labs are compact, tables lined in rows illuminated by fluorescent lights. Several people are wrapped up in lab coats, hunched over their lab benches and notes.   
  
At the very back of the lab stands a man typing furiously on a laptop, the fringes of his hair falling around his thick glasses.  
  
“Hey Hank,” Angel claps a companionable hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got something for you.”  
  
The man – Hank – looks up bemusedly. “Hm?”  
  
When Angel laughs, it’s loud and amicable. “This is Charles Xavier. He graduated from Oxford this summer.”  
  
“Oxford, huh?” Hank finally meets Charles’ gaze. He smiles awkwardly. “I’m Harvard myself.”  
  
Angel says, “Hank’s in charge of research for the biomed department – he’ll make a groundbreaking experiment, write up a proposal, and then Mr. Lehnsherr approves and then our factories are pumping out Hank’s newest discoveries, right Hank?”  
  
Hank smiles weakly.  
  
Charles sticks out a hand. “Biomedical sciences. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”  
  
“Biochemistry,” Hank shakes his hand firmly. “And you too.”   
  
Charles opens his mouth but Hank beats him to it. “Raven’s flying in Thursday night. You should come by for dinner.”  
  
“I’d love that.”  
  
Hank nods. His thick glasses obscure most of his face, but Charles still manages to catch the edges of his smile before Hank turns back to the metal contraption lying on his workbench.   
  
“Alright, let’s leave him to it,” Angel concludes, “If we keep trying to talk to him we’ll get one-word responses at best.”  
  
Charles feels a brief desire to remain in the labs, ask Hank more about his studies, but agrees nevertheless.   
  
“Technically, you’re here to work with Hank and help him write proposals, research anything he needs, et cetera,” Angel starts.  
  
“Right,” Charles agrees.  
  
“But really, Moira McTaggert wanted someone to push the biomed department further into the bioengineering field.”  
  
“The head of the aerospace department?”  
  
“Right, well, here at X-Trusion, the board members always get into each other’s departments. It’s kind of like checks and balances, really.”  
  
Charles nods. “So the problem?” They step into an empty elevator.  
  
“Head of the biomed department – Mr. Lehnsherr – he’s – ”  
  
“Difficult,” a third voice interjects. Charles looks up. A boy with blond hair steps into the elevator, hands shoved in his pockets. “Don’t fuck around with Lehnsherr,” he says.  
  
Angel nods. “Hello, Alex. This is Charles Xavier. Charles, this is Alex Summers, he brings in equipment for the labs.”  
  
“You can say for Hank. He’s the one who orders all the shit anyway,” Alex grumbles.   
  
“Don’t call him delivery boy,” Angel murmurs into Charles’ ear.  
  
“I heard that.”  
  
Charles can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face.   
  
Alex turns and jerks his head in Charles’ direction. “Lehnsherr’s a businessman. He doesn’t want to expand horizons, he wants to make money.”  
  
Swatting at Alex’s shoulder, Angel remarks, “Don’t put it like that.”  
  
“So,” Charles frowns, feeling his concentration scatter, “So then I’m here to help Hank in the labs – but really – ”  
  
“You’re here to convince Mr. Lehnsherr to expand the department,” Angel confirms. “The board is split – half of them want to expand and half of them don’t – so Moira decided to take things into her own hands.”  
  
Alex nods towards Charles. “That’s why you’re here.”  
  
“I think you can do it,” Angel smiles reassuringly. “Between the boy-genius from Harvard and the Oxford graduate who finished his PhD two years early, it shouldn’t be too hard.”  
  
Snorting, Alex calls, “Bullshit. Lehnsherr’s immovable. Moira’s crazy for thinking he’ll change his mind.”  
  
“Well, at least I can try,” Charles says a bit defensively.  
  
“See? This is why we hired you,” Angel beams. The elevator dings at the lobby and the doors slide open. When Charles glances out, the lobby has mostly emptied. A boy with floppy hair turns around, heads inside the elevator.  
  
“Like I said,” Alex says in his low voice, “Just don’t fuck around with him.”  
  
“With who?” the newest addition to their lift pipes in.  
  
“This is Sean,” Alex nods at the floppy-haired boy. “He works with Lehnsherr, he can tell you.”  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr?” Sean echoes. He looks at Charles speculatively. “You must be Xavier.”  
  
“That’s me,” Charles confirms and Angel presses the button for the third floor.   
  
“I thought you’d be older,” Sean says.  
  
“Lehnsherr,” Alex reminds them.  
  
“Hank’s not going to be the one to convince Mr. Lehnsherr of anything,” Angel cuts in.  
  
Sean nods. “Yeah, I love Hank, but he’ll piss his pants if Lehnsherr so much as looks at him wrong.”  
  
“Which is why they need you,” Alex reiterates. “Hank can’t convince him and the board is divided. Moira wants to tip the scales.”  
  
Charles’ eyebrows furrow. “But, this Mr. Lehnsherr – he doesn’t know, does he?”  
  
“Nope,” Sean pops the second syllable with his lips.   
  
“You’ll be working right underneath him,” Angel clarifies. “Technically, the job position is direct communication between the lab and the third floor – ”  
  
Alex interjects, “Yeah, because Hank doesn’t get his ass out of the labs often enough,” but Angel continues as if he hadn’t spoken.  
  
“Which is what Mr. Lehnsherr thinks you’re here for – but,” she trails off and looks at him meaningfully.  
  
“Right,” Charles says, his thoughts whirling. “Well, how bad can he be?”  
  
Charles steps out of the elevator first, misses the significant look that Sean and Alex exchange. Angel rolls her eyes.   
  
“We’ll see you boys around,” she waves to them, follows Charles down the hallway. “This way,” she directs to Charles.  
  
Either side of the hallway is lined with offices, square and businesslike, doors leading into each private one. Some offices have their shutters closed, blocking inquiring glances through glass windows.   
  
“Honestly, I think you’ll like it here,” Angel says lowly, much more casually, to Charles. “Raven doesn’t even work for the company but we all still get along.”  
  
Charles smiles. “I’ve heard that Raven knows you all well.”  
  
“Even though she doesn’t work for us?” Angel laughs, “Yeah, yeah she does.” Angel shakes her head good-naturedly, “She says we’re all too uptight so she makes us go to her and Hank’s place at the end of every other month. Usually, it’s me, Alex, Sean, Hank – obviously, and Darwin. Darwin works down in the labs too, you’ll probably meet him soon. The younger employees gotta stick together, right?” she jokes.  
  
Angel pauses in front of a door in the middle of the hall. The shutters are closed. “Most of us are actually in the biomed department. Anyway, this is Mr. Lehnsherr’s office.”  
  
It looks the same as every other office they’ve passed. A wave of nervousness rises in Charles’ stomach and he quashes it down ruthlessly. “Are we going in today?”  
  
“Whenever you’re ready.”  
  
Charles raps twice on the wooden door.   
  
“Come in.”  
  
The door swings open.  
  
Charles doesn’t know what he was expecting – maybe a stern looking old man with a receding hairline – but it wasn’t this.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr, this is your new employee, Charles Xavier. He’s taking Pritchett’s old office at the end of the office.”  
  
Even as Mr. Lehnsherr looks down at the papers on his desk, Charles feels his gut clench around the fact that, with all of the talk about him, Lehnsherr is dreadfully attractive – with a sharp jawline and large hands –   
  
Charles balls his hands into fists at his sides, stamps out that train of thought entirely.   
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lehnsherr.”  
  
When Lehnsherr looks up, his eyes are acerbic and blue. Lehnsherr tilts his head slightly to the side. “And you, Xavier.”  
  
“Come on,” Angel mutters, “I’ll show you your office,” and that’s it. Charles licks his lips subconsciously, follows Angel out of the office and down the hall.   
  
By the end of the day, Charles’ mind whirs with the new people and places.   
  
After Angel had finished introducing him to the rest of the, admittedly older, biomed department, she’d put him straight to work with Hank and Darwin in the labs.  
  
Hank was apprehensive but kind, a rather fitting complement to Raven’s brash and bold personality, Charles inwardly thought, while Darwin was reserved but witty.   
  
The day flew by in the labs, what with Hank’s inexorable description of the various tools and processes used in X-Trusion, interspersed with Darwin’s jocular banter.  
  
And now, as Charles steps from the elevator, out of the lobby and into the parking lot beyond, even as his body is drained – both physically and mentally – he thinks of Angel’s remark that morning:  
  
 _I think I’ll like it here_.  
  
  
One  
  
Erik Lehnsherr isn’t cruel or diabolical. Contrary to what Alex Summers insinuates, Erik Lehnsherr isn’t even rude.   
  
“He’s just, distant, I guess,” Charles tells Raven when she flies into the city a few days after his induction into X-Trusion. “He doesn’t talk a lot but sometimes he’ll just look at you – ” Charles fixes his gaze onto Raven in a steely way to demonstrate. “And it’s like he knows _everything_.”  
  
Raven laughs gleefully, putting down her chopsticks to clap her hands together. “Hank can’t even talk about him at home – he’ll just clam up.” She shakes her head fondly.  
  
Charles’ smile softens into something more subdued. “I’m glad you’re happy here,” he says to her, and he means it.  
  
Her expression loosens for a moment. “I am,” she says, quieter. “Hank’s good for me, we both live close to where we work,” she shrugs, “There’s really nothing more to ask for.” She picks up her chopsticks and pokes at her pad Thai for a moment. “His coworkers are fun too!” she brightens at the thought, places a piece of chicken into her mouth.   
  
Charles watches her and wonders how he’s gone so long without her.   
  
“Although,” she narrows her eyes and points her chopsticks at him accusingly, “It’d be a lot easier if you lived closer to us.”  
  
Charles raises his hands in defeat. “Milpitas spoke to me, Raven; she said, ‘Charles, come live here so you can put at least twenty miles between you and that delusional girl you call your sister,’” he teases and Raven gasps in mock horror.   
  
“Charles, how dare you? I’m telling Hank to ruin your next project,” she says self-righteously.  
  
“We’re working on a project together,” Charles chuckles into his coconut soup. “If he sabotaged it, Lehnsherr would kill us both.”  
  
Raven narrows her eyes. “Cupertino’s a perfectly nice place to live.”  
  
“So is Milpitas. Raven, we’re less than thirty minutes apart from each other.” Charles shifts in his chair and sips at his soup. “And besides, I wanted to give you and Hank some space,” he says, but thinks _I wanted to give_ you _space_ , and suddenly, the room feels smaller and Charles imagines himself as fifteen years old, telling Raven that she can’t go out and say things like that in public and Raven’s mouth pursing into a thin line of disbelief –   
  
“Thank you,” she says, looking down into her lap. Charles drops his spoon into his bowl with a clatter and straightens up.  
  
“Now tell me about these parties you throw for the biomedical department,” he says, tone light, ignoring the way his hand curls into a guilty fist on his thigh.   
  
Raven smiles and they don’t talk about their past for the rest of the night.   
  
Charles leaves Hank and Raven’s house reluctantly. He doesn’t want to leave Raven by herself, but she insists, “Hank’ll be home soon, he’s probably just working on some research and forgotten the time,” and so he kisses her on the forehead and swallows down the guilt threatening to rise in his throat.  
  
The drive back to his house is uneventful, and Charles’ condo is dark when he unlocks the door. He sheds off his suit easily, and with it, all thoughts of work until the next day.   
  
X-Trusion’s first-floor lobby contains a wave of hustling employees in the morning, Charles notices, but not during lunch or in the afternoon. He mentions this off-handedly to Angel and she replies, “Most people come in early and leave late.” She shrugs. “They work hard.”  
  
The more time Charles spends at X-Trusion, the more evident the bifurcation between the labs and the third floor becomes to him. Charles alternates between the two floors, but the only time the lab ever sends up information to the third floor is through papers delivered by Sean.   
  
“Have you ever considered taking the elevator upstairs to just, well, talk to Mr. Lehnsherr?” Charles asks Darwin one day, over a disassembled prosthetic leg. “Just to update him on ideas and progress, that is.”  
  
Darwin looks at him, then looks at Hank, then back at Charles. “No.”  
  
“Right,” Charles says.  
  
In the privacy of his office, as Charles reads over Hank’s proposals – on improving the quality of X-Trusion’s products, on purchasing new products – he often finds himself agreeing with Raven: Hank works best in the labs.   
  
His writing is elaborate and overly detailed; even with Charles’ own background knowledge, sometimes he finds it difficult to follow Hank’s train of thought.   
  
Nevertheless, by the end of his first full week and after many trips down the labs and up to his office, Charles has finished rewriting three of Hank’s proposals: one on the use of new alloys in aircraft parts, another on a slight tweak in the design of one of X-Trusion’s signature prosthetic hands, and the third explaining the benefits of purchasing a fourth 3D printer.   
  
Satisfied, he snaps a binder clip on the bundle of papers and strides out of his office with the finished proposals in hand.   
  
He walks down the hall, past the coffee room – which, by the way, is conveniently located next to Charles’ office – and knocks sharply on Lehnsherr’s half-open door.  
  
“Come in,” Lehnsherr says.   
  
Lehnsherr’s brow furrows as he reads something on his laptop. The knot of his tie rests heavily at the dip of his neck.   
  
Charles clears his throat.   
  
Lehnsherr looks up and his eyes refocus onto Charles. “Xavier. What do you need?”  
  
“I’ve finished the proposals,” Charles refrains from adding ‘sir’ to the end of his sentence, a habit picked up from his days at Oxford, “Should I leave them with you? Or send them to Helen?”  
  
Lehnsherr looks at Charles for a minute and briefly, Charles thinks of the way he’d imitated this very gaze for Raven over Thai takeout. Charles resists the urge to shift under Lehnsherr’s calculating gaze.   
  
“I’ll look over them now,” Lehnsherr says, leaning back in his chair and Charles resolutely does not look the way his boss’s hands fold neatly in his lap.  
  
Charles dips his head and steps into the office, hands the papers to Lehnsherr.   
  
“I can’t read this,” Lehnsherr says a heartbeat later.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“Your formatting is incorrect.” Lehnsherr gestures towards the header of Hank’s proposal. “The spacing is off,” Lehnsherr flips through the proposal casually, “The font size should be the same throughout the proposal.” Lehnsherr closes the proposal and looks up impassively. “I could go on, but that’d be a waste of time.” He holds the proposal out, proffering it to Charles.   
  
“I’m sorry?” Charles repeats again, a bit more slowly, over the blood that rushes in ears.  
  
Lehnsherr narrows his eyes. “This could be the best proposal this company has ever seen, but quite frankly, I won’t read it unless the formatting fits our company guidelines.”  
  
Charles blinks rapidly, two times in succession. “I hardly think that the formatting should detract from – ”  
  
“Xavier,” Lehnsherr interrupts, tossing the proposals onto his desk. His tone allows for no argument. “Fix the proposal or I won’t read it. Now get out, and stop wasting my time.”  
  
Lehnsherr opens his laptop again in a clear sign of dismissal.  
  
Charles opens his mouth. “So you’re saying,” he begins, and as the words leave his mouth, he realizes that this cannot end well, “That even if these are the best proposals that this department has ever seen in a decade, you refuse to look at them, because the fonts are not to your liking?”  
  
“There’s a formatting guideline in every single office in this building,” Lehnsherr says, doesn’t meet Charles’ heated gaze.  
  
“The quality of my work – ” Charles begins indignantly but Lehnsherr cuts him off.  
  
“Xavier,” he looks at Charles and goddammit, Charles should _not_ be noticing how dark his eyelashes are, “I thought you graduated from Oxford.” Lehnsherr’s tone is deceptively blasé, belies the tight muscles in his clenched jaw. “Surely they taught you to respect your superiors there? Fix your proposals,” Lehnsherr says, turning away from Charles. “When I see them again, I expect decent work.”  
  
“No,” he replies swiftly, and it’s well worth the look that Lehnsherr gives him. Charles really shouldn’t, it’s only his second week, but he continues. He grabs the proposals from where they lie on Lehnsherr’s desk. “They’ll be the best proposals you’ve seen in a decade.” And with that, Charles strides from the office, proposals in hand, closes the door with a quiet click behind him.   
  
He’s still fuming internally – _cocky bastard, thinks he can bring up Oxford and –_ when he hears his name called in a stage whisper.   
  
Angel waits by the coffee machine, her lips curved into a mischievous smile. Charles doesn’t attempt to smile back, simply ducks into the coffee room.  
  
“You’ve made it out of the lion’s den alive,” she smirks at him. Her face falls when he comes close enough for her to see the wrinkles in his proposals from where Charles has gripped them too tightly.  
  
“Didn’t even read them,” Charles shakes his head, biting the inside of his cheek. “He said my formatting was wrong.”  
  
“He’s going hard on you,” Angel comments, and pushes down on the handle of the Keurig coffee maker. “Normally he doesn’t mention formatting until three weeks in.”  
  
“The next time these are on his desks,” Charles shakes his head and allows a grin to come over his face, “He won’t know what hit him.”  
  
Angel raises a skeptical eyebrow but Charles ignores her, already reviewing the papers in his head.   
  
“Thank you,” he says zealously to Angel when she hands him a cup of coffee. Her lips barely form the words “you’re welcome” before he’s off, pacing into his office and pulling out a copy of X-Trusion’s formatting guidelines.  
  
A few hours later, there’s a sharp rap on his front door. “Mr. Xavier?”  
  
“Hm?” Charles says distractedly. He looks up.   
  
Sean Cassidy stands in the doorway, looking simultaneously impressed and wary.   
  
“Oh, hello Sean. Come in.”  
  
“So,” he says tentatively, taking the seat across from Charles’ desk. “Heard Lehnsherr went all out on you.”  
  
“Not really,” Charles remarks brightly, flipping through the guideline. “He was right, you know, it’s true that I should’ve looked through this before I attempted to submit anything.”  
  
Sean looks dubious. “No one reads that thing.”  
  
“I will,” Charles says firmly.   
  
“Right,” Sean drawls. “Anyway, Darwin and Angel and the rest of us are going out for lunch. You in?”  
  
Charles glances at the clock. “Christ, I didn’t even realize it was that late. No, I think I’ll finish this before the end of today.” He taps his pen to his lips. “Although, I’m not sure I might be able to do that.”  
  
For a moment, Sean stares apprehensively at the proposal on Charles’ desk, as if he can’t believe someone would actually want to work to impress Lehnsherr. “Well,” he starts slowly, “The building stays open after business hours. I’m not sure what time the systems shut down, exactly, but lots of people stay back. You could probably do that too, today, if you really wanted to finish.”  
  
“Brilliant,” Charles says, typing rapidly on his computer. “Really, I’m sorry for not being able to go out. Perhaps another time?”  
  
“Don’t work too hard,” Sean sighs, shaking his head as he leaves the office.   
  
“I can’t promise that,” Charles mutters to himself, keyboard clicking as he types.  
  
It feels as though only a moment has passed before Angel taps gently on his door. “Got you some sandwiches,” she says, “Since you didn’t want to go out to lunch, we brought lunch to you.”  
  
“Oh, you didn’t have to,” Charles says but Angel insists, and when she leaves, Charles is happily munching on his sandwich.   
  
Slowly but surely, the offices of the biomedical department begin to empty as the time goes on, and when Charles knocks on Lehnsherr’s door several hours after Angel has gone home, the biomed floor is practically empty, save for two offices with their lights still on. There is no reply.  
  
“Damn,” Charles mutters to himself. He looks to the left, and strides over to another employee’s office office.  
  
“Devina?” he calls out, and gets a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement in reply. “Have you any idea where Mr. Lehnsherr is?”  
  
She looks up from her papers, through her glasses. “He’s probably in the gym. He goes there sometimes after hours.”  
  
“Right, thank you,” Charles calls out, already halfway out of her office.   
  
He’s striding down the hallway and towards the elevator, skimming the front page of his proposals in one hand and clutching his briefcase in the other, waiting in front of the elevator when it dings. Charles surges forward without looking, and very nearly barrels into Lehnsherr, if not for the steady hand that the latter places on Charles’ shoulder.  
  
“My God, watch where you’re going,” Lehnsherr snaps and something in Charles’ neck pops when he snaps his head up.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr, I was just looking for you – ” Charles begins, rubbing the back of his neck. Abruptly, Charles realizes how much taller Lehnsherr is than him; Charles’ nose barely reaches Lehnsherr’s shoulder. He swallows.  
  
“No you weren’t, you were reading your paper,” Lehnsherr mutters but Charles ignores it.  
  
“I’ve fixed the proposals,” Charles ends the sentence quickly, bites down on the ‘sir’ that threatens to slip out. He follows Lehnsherr as he strides down the hallway.   
  
Lehnsherr glances over his shoulder and Charles meets his gaze steadily, pacing quickly to keep up with his long strides.   
  
“Already?” Lehnsherr says, stopping in front of his office to unlock the door, and if Charles didn’t know better, he would’ve said that Lehnsherr sounded amused.   
  
“Well, yes, I’ve just fixed the formatting and – ” Charles cuts himself off when Lehnsherr holds out a hand.   
  
Charles wills himself not to say anything else until Lehnsherr finishes perusing the proposals.   
  
A moment later, Lehnsherr says, “Fine.”  
  
Charles pauses. “Fine?”  
  
“Fine,” Lehnsherr repeats, and he fixes his impassive gaze onto Charles, “I’ll look over it.”  
  
“Could you look over it now?” Charles replies quickly, and then takes a bit of his tongue in between his molars.   
  
“I’m going home now, Xavier,” Lehnsherr all but sighs, striding into his office and picking up his briefcase.   
  
“Right. Well, I was just wondering – ”  
  
“I’ve had a long day,” Lehnsherr interrupts, and briefly, Charles thinks he’s being a bit overeager, like a clumsy puppy yapping at its owner’s heels, “And I am going home,” Lehnsherr repeats. “And you should too,” he adds after a pause. “You’re not required to stay after hours.”  
  
“I know that,” Charles says, following him back down the hall, into the waiting elevator. “But I wanted to fix the proposals.”  
  
Lehnsherr remains silent for a moment as the elevator doors slide close and Charles realizes that they are shockingly alone.   
  
“Are you not used to being denied?”   
  
“I – what?” Charles says, his mind immediately going places where it should not be going.  
  
Lehnsherr pulls at his cufflinks, looks straight forward. “I mean, were you used to getting all the attention you wanted at Oxford? Always told that you were right? That you were the best?”  
  
Against his better judgement, Charles lets out a small indignant noise.  
  
Lehnsherr turns to look at Charles and his expression is unreadable. “Am I wrong?”  
  
 _Don’t look at his mouth, don’t look at his mouth_ , Charles repeats to himself, keeps his gaze fixed on Lehnsherr’s steely eyes. He raises his head in defiance. “Yes.”  
  
Lehnsherr cocks an eyebrow and suddenly steps closer, one polished dress shoe making a scuffing noise against the linoleum tile of the elevator. Charles’ heart jumps into his throat and he can’t help it; his gaze flickers once to Lehnsherr’s lips – _fuck_ , he thinks to himself – before darting back up to Lehnsherr’s unwavering gaze.   
  
There’s a soft ding as Lehnsherr leans to Charles’ left, presses the button with the number one inscribed inside of it.  
  
Lehnsherr steps back and for a second, Charles thinks he catches a whiff of his cologne, sharp and heady on his tongue.   
  
“You were saying?” Lehnsherr says and his voice breaks through Charles’ thoughts.   
  
“Right, I – yes, you’re wrong.” Charles recovers quickly. “I worked hard to get into uni – you have no idea how hard I worked to finish – ”  
  
“Graduated two years early,” Lehnsherr finishes. “I know, I read the resume.” The elevator hums as it moves. “And you’re right.”  
  
“I’m sorry?” Charles says disbelievingly.   
  
“You’re right. I don’t know a thing about how you spent your time overseas.” Lehnsherr fixes his eyes on Charles and Charles feels like nothing outside of this elevator matters – the only thing that’s real is right here, now, in this tiny elevator –   
  
“But,” Lehnsherr says, “I do know how you work here. And that’s all I ever will know.”   
  
The elevator dings and the door slides open to reveal the empty first floor. Outside, the night sky waits indifferently.   
  
“Which just gives me incentive to work harder,” Charles finishes, still maintaining eye contact.   
  
Lehnsherr continues looking for a moment and his eyes flick for a moment, down and then up, before he says, “Good night, Xavier.”  
  
Charles hears himself say, “Good night, Mr. Lehnsherr,” and watches the other man until his figure disappears into the night.  
  
-  
  
It feels normal to walk into X-Trusion the next day.   
  
Not necessarily comfortable – no, Charles is still well-aware that he’s one of the few employees under twenty-five years old – but normal to push past a throng of conversing men in pinstripe suits and squeeze into a crowded elevator.  
  
“Labs,” Charles says before anyone can ask.   
  
“You know, these are really good,” Darwin tells Charles when the latter gives a copy of his newly edited proposals to the other to look over.   
  
“You think so?” Charles says absent-mindedly, fiddling with a metal wire.   
  
“Yeah, I do,” Darwin insists, flipping through the pages. Charles likes the sound of papers turning, a quiet rasp signifying the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.   
  
“Thank you, Darwin,” Charles says sincerely.  
  
“I’m glad you’re here,” Hank manages, nodding along, and Charles smiles fondly. “I’m glad I’m here too.”  
  
Darwin asks, “Have these been approved?”  
  
“Not yet,” admits Charles, “But Mr. Lehnsherr says he’ll get back to me soon,” and this elicits an approving hum from Darwin.  
  
“Will you be coming to Raven’s party at the end of the month?” Hank asks and Charles blinks in surprise.   
  
“Quite honestly, I didn’t know if I was invited,” Charles confesses.  
  
Darwin frowns. “Of course you are.”  
  
“Well,” Charles begins, “She mentioned it but I didn’t mean to impose – ”  
  
“You’re going,” Hank says firmly and Darwin nods.   
  
“You know what,” Darwin says a while later, when Hank is buried in his metallurgy experimentation. Charles looks up.   
  
“Did you know that Angel invites Lehnsherr to each one of Raven’s parties?”  
  
“What?” Hank all but yelps, head snapping up to look at Darwin.  
  
“I shit you not,” Darwin confirms, pleased with this reaction. “She goes out of her way to invite all the department heads and her higher ups. Looking for that promotion,” he adds knowingly.  
  
“Does Raven know?” Charles inquires.  
  
Darwin glances at Hank. “It was actually Raven’s idea,” and Hank mutters something darkly under his breath, delving back into his work.   
  
Charles fiddles with a particularly ugly set of fractions when he comments, “I’ve noticed that the biomed department has a lot less, well, older people than the other divisions of X-Trusion.”  
  
Hank murmurs his agreement.   
  
“Each head of department has the final say in choosing employees,” Darwin explains, handing Hank a soldering iron. “Some are picky about who they let in – I know Quested is especially finicky with credentials – and some aren’t.” He shrugs. “Lehnsherr doesn’t care. That’s why biomed is full of,” Darwin waves a vague hand, “Us.”  
  
Charles nods.   
  
Alex comes in a little while after that, “bearing gifts of sustenance,” Darwin declares, grabbing the croissants before anyone can say otherwise. Lunch is a lively affair and Charles reluctantly announces his departure back upstairs as his break ends.   
  
He’s settling back into his office, sorting through various papers and reading his emails when someone taps at his door.   
  
“It’s unlocked,” Charles calls out, frowning at his computer.  
  
He looks up at the quiet _snick_ of the door opening, fully expecting Sean or Angel.   
  
Instead, Lehnsherr’s shoes are silent on the carpet flooring as he crosses the office, wielding a stack of papers. The room seems to shrink around them as Lehnsherr steps closer, all of Charles’ attention diverted to his tall, broad figure, as if Lehnsherr were a whirlpool and Charles were reef, every bit of him caught in the undertow.   
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles says, his voice rough. He clears his throat. When Lehnsherr stops next to Charles’ desk, Charles has to look up from where he’s sitting to look up at him.   
  
The man places the proposals on Charles’ desk with a soft _plop_. “Approved.”  
  
And Charles cannot help himself. He asks, “Were they decent?”  
  
Lehnsherr looks down at Charles and something in Charles’ gut twists with anticipation. There’s a split second where neither of them moves, both breathing without a sound, not saying a word –   
  
And Lehnsherr – Lehnsherr fucking _smirks_ , very very slightly, but Charles catches it nonetheless; the edges of his lips barely move as they quirk upwards for just a fraction of a second – barely there and then gone – before becoming unreadable once more. Charles watches, absolutely stunned, as Lehnsherr saunters around Charles’ desk to come to the other side, next to Charles, leans on the lip of the desk so that his legs cross elegantly in front of him and Charles’ stomach somersaults when Lehnsherr concedes, “Best in a decade.”  
  
Charles’ mouth opens and he’s about to say something stupid, he can feel it, when there’s a, “Charles, you left your – oh! Oh, so sorry,” Angel says from the half-open door and Lehnsherr leans forward – _fuckfuckfuck_ , Charles thinks –   
  
There’s a brief whiff of sharp cologne that Charles picks up on when Lehnsherr claps his hand on Charles’ shoulder.   
  
_Jesus Christ,_ Charles thinks to himself. Lehnsherr’s hand burns, the entirety of his palm nearly encompassing all of Charles’ shoulder, hot against his skin even over the material of the suit jacket. The hand lingers there for a heartbeat; Charles fights his flush –   
  
And then it’s gone.  
  
 _Get it together_ , Charles thinks to himself, almost desperately. To be this worked up over something so small –  
  
“Not bad, Xavier,” Lehnsherr says to Charles, interrupting that thought. When Lehnsherr leaves the room, Angel makes a curt movement with her chin. “See you, boss,” she says when he nods at her.  
  
When Angel raises an eyebrow at Charles, he feels the flush, hot and high on his cheeks, threatening to spread down to his chest. “You alright, Xavier?”  
  
“Fantastic,” Charles says, doesn’t meet her inquiring gaze.   
  
From then on, Lehnsherr accepts Charles’ work without any further remark about the formatting; Charles doesn’t give him any reason to.  
  
-  
  
The days bleed into weeks, crawling toward the end of the month. Before Charles knows it, his first month at X-Trusion comes to a quiet close.   
  
That particular Saturday, Charles wakes from sleep to a frantic banging on his door.   
  
He’s tugging on a pair of sweatpants and wondering who the hell would try to wake him up before nine o’clock on a Sunday when Raven calls out, “Charles, I know you’re home, I see your car. Open the door.”  
  
Charles does.  
  
Rubbing his eyes blearily, he manages, “What do you want from me?”  
  
Raven and Angel stand on his welcome mat, their arms crossed and faces twin expressions of mild amusement. “Department get-together tonight, did you forget?”  
  
Which is how Charles finds himself in Raven’s green Kia Soul, speeding from Milpitas to Cupertino.  
  
“I was thinking something more laid-back than last time,” Angel says to Raven as they speed down the highway, “Alcohol and junk food, yeah? Maybe beer and nachos, or chips and ale –  
  
“Pizza and red wine,” Charles says wisely from the backseat. Angel turns around from the passenger seat to give him an appraising look.  
  
“Wings,” Raven interrupts, “Barbecue wings and frozen margaritas.”  
  
Angel claps and Charles laughs all the way to the supermarket, but when they walk out of the grocery store, Charles begins to wonder what he got himself into.   
  
Nevertheless, purchasing copious amounts of alcohol aside, Charles thinks that this is the happiest he’s ever seen Raven: she’s in her comfort zone, setting up lights and helping Angel unload the car. Hank works assiduously in his room and Charles flits in between talking to Hank and trying to help Angel and Raven.   
  
“You know,” comments Charles a few hours later, “I really didn’t expect this.”  
  
Raven smiles smugly.   
  
In the span of the afternoon, Raven and Angel have managed to clean most of the moderately-sized house, sweeping all of Hank’s scattered papers into one neat pile and organizing the kitchen into something that vaguely resembles a buffet – fitted with nachos, chips, and barbecue wings – and managed to hang dim Christmas lights all around the living room, giving the whole house a rather cozy aura.   
  
“Not bad,” Hank says. “Although I did really like the Hawaiian theme that you guys did a while back.”  
  
“I’ll show you pictures,” Angel mouths across the room to Charles, mimes holding up a camera.   
  
The first to arrive is Sean, who doesn’t even ring the doorbell, simply yells, “Open up!”   
  
Alex and Darwin come with beer (Charles asks Alex half-jokingly, “Are you even allowed to drink alcohol?” and gets a raised eyebrow in response) right after a brown-haired woman rings the doorbell, a bottle of champagne in hand.  
  
The guests soon trickle in after that – other, less familiar, faces that Charles has managed to become conversant with in his time at the office.   
  
Something pop and horribly American plays in the background as Charles steals a spot next to Hank on the couch, his third cold beer in hand. In his belly, the Heineken mixes with a pink margarita in a mélange of alcohol.   
  
“And then Helen asks, ‘But did you bring the booze?’” Sean snorts, hands flying energetically as he recounts a story.  
  
Raven lets out a loose peal of laughter, clapping her hand down on Hank’s thigh easily. The others around them laugh as well; even Alex lets out a rough chuckle. The woman who brought the champagne shakes her head good-naturedly and Angel smirks from the kitchen, where she pours herself another drink.   
  
A ring from the doorbell interrupts them. “I got it,” Angel says, strolling over to the door with a cup in hand.  
  
“Sorry we’re late,” a petite woman says from the door.   
  
“Hey boss,” Angel drawls, holds up her cup in greeting.   
  
On the doorstep, next to the dark-haired woman, Lehnsherr wears a pale dress shirt, sans suit jacket and tie, the top two buttons undone, tucked into his dark slacks. Charles feels his gut drop.  
  
“You made it,” Champagne-Lady croons and Darwin lets out a whoop from the kitchen.   
  
“Helen insisted,” Lehnsherr dips his head, as the pair walks into the house.   
  
Raven calls out helpfully, “There’s drinks in the kitchen, help yourselves,” and Lehnsherr obligingly follows Angel into the kitchen.   
  
His companion, however, heads directly to the living room, taking a seat on the arm closest to Sean.  
  
“We were just talking about you, Doc,” Sean grins, leaning back in the armchair.  
  
“All good things, I hope?” the woman laughs. Her gaze sweeps the room casually, takes in Lehnsherr and Angel at the kitchen countertop, Alex and Darwin sitting on the tile floor, Raven surrounded by her entourage on the couch, landing finally on Charles.   
  
“Helen Cho,” she leans forward, extending a hand.   
  
“Charles Xavier.”  
  
Helen smiles smoothly and the hum of conversation returns without a hitch, the low voices of Alex and Darwin interspersed with Sean’s incessant hooting, Raven’s laughter.   
  
The hours fly by, afternoon easing into night; someone closes the door leading to the patio to maintain the warmth of the house and Charles sits comfortably on the couch, snug between Hank and a sofa arm. The room begins to heat up, just on the edge between toasty and uncomfortably warm, as bodies pack into the living room, spilling into the kitchen. Or maybe, Charles thinks, it’s just the alcohol.   
  
Angel’s returned to the couch and armchair set up, sliding onto the floor in front of Sean, chanting alongside Darwin and Raven as the floppy-haired boy chugs his umpteenth drink. Around them, a few hazy figures mill around, meandering from living room to kitchen to garden to living room again. Charles can’t find enough energy within himself to put names to faces.  
  
“Your turn, Hank,” someone says, and Charles doesn’t look to see whether it’s Champagne-Lady or Raven.   
  
“Excuse me,” he slurs, rising from the couch and almost tripping over Sean – how did he get there? – before making his way to the back door. “I’ll be right back,” he manages to call over his shoulder, slides the screen door open.  
  
“Excuse me,” someone murmurs – Helen, Charles thinks – slips around him and back into the house.  
  
The cold night hits him abruptly. Charles blinks, then shuts the door behind him.   
  
Lehnsherr stands in front of him, back facing Charles, leaning against one of the wooden structures that holds up the veranda roof.   
  
“It’s nice out here,” Charles remarks, a few moments too late.  
  
It’s true though; a string of Christmas lights wreaths around the veranda roof, giving the entire structure a little light – just enough so that Charles can make out a small cluster of wrinkles at the back of Lehnsherr’s dress shirt.   
  
The man turns around to face him. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.  
  
“Hello, Xavier.”  
  
Charles breathes in deeply as he steps forward, into the space next to Lehnsherr. The cold air feels crisp in his lungs, smells like dew and ice in his olfactory senses.  
  
“Did I interrupt something?” Charles says, sometime – he isn’t sure if it’s a minute or five or an hour – later. He jerks his head back, to where Helen had gone back inside.  
  
Lehnsherr breathes out slowly, his breath condensing in the night air, and Charles watches it.  
  
“No,” Lehnsherr says finally. Charles watches the way his mouth forms the word, then his eyes catch on the way Lehnsherr’s shirt clings to his shoulders.  
  
“I think you earned Darwin some money today.”  
  
Lehnsherr looks at Charles, and even in the chill of the night, Charles feels an inexplicable flush of warmth pool in his belly. “How so?” Lehnsherr’s mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile and Charles can’t stop looking at his lips, pale and smooth; Charles imagines that they’d be soft on his own. “They had a bet. On whether or not you would come.”  
  
A chuckle escapes from Lehnsherr’s lips, low and rough. “I wasn’t going to, but Helen dragged me along.”  
  
Charles nods – that’s a perfectly sensible reasoning. He tucks his hands in pockets.  
  
Sprawled in front of the veranda, Hank and Raven’s garden is carefully trimmed, grass glinting underneath the moonlight. Charles looks up.   
  
The moon is wide and white. The sky is dark, but Charles can’t see any stars. He shivers.   
  
“Are you cold?” Charles hears and with a considerable amount of effort, Charles drags his gaze from the night sky, like heaving himself from the dangerous orbit of a celestial body.   
  
“Not really.”  
  
Lehnsherr looks at him again, his expression closed off, and Charles’ gaze flickers over the way his unbuttoned dress shirt reveals Lehnsherr’s tan skin, his collarbones –   
  
“Are you drunk?”  
  
“No,” Charles says slowly, tests the word on his tongue before releasing it. And then, swiftly, “Why? Do you want me to be?”  
  
“I’m just a little drowsy,” Charles admits. He wraps his arms around himself, tucking his hands into his armpits.  
  
“You know, in the 1940s, cane toads were brought to Australia from Hawaii,” Charles says to the sky. “They thought that the cane toads would eat the cane beetle, which was eating the sugar cane crop.”  
  
Charles gets a quirked eyebrow from Lehnsherr for that. _Stop talking_ , Charles thinks to himself, _stop talking and frogs, stop stop stop_ – _  
__  
_“Except, the thing is, the cane toads didn’t eat the cane beetle. They ate birds and snakes – pretty much everything except for the cane beetle. It’s actually quite horrid. People are driving over them, smoking them, all trying to get rid of them, but they can’t.” Charles nods to himself. “It’s quite fascinating.”  
  
“Invasive species,” says Lehnsherr and Charles makes a pleasantly surprised noise.  
  
More time passes. Charles is looking at Lehnsherr’s hands, the way the insides of his palms are callused, the way his wrist bones wring delicately under the soft lights.   
  
“Isn’t that insane?” Charles says, as if no time had passed at all. “A new species, from halfway across the world, decimating the native population, absolutely destroying all competition.  
  
“In Australia, the cane toad has no predators – the animals aren’t used to the kind of poison that the toad has – Australia was completely unprepared for it – ”  
  
“They’d never seen anything like it before,” Lehnsherr interrupts and Charles blinks, hands still held out in front of him, frozen in the gesture he was haphazardly executing.   
  
“Well, yes,” Charles says.   
  
The patio door slides open noisily behind them and the sound of Sean cackling fills the garden. Charles turns the same time Lehnsherr does.  
  
“Hello Angel. Care to join us?” Charles waves a hand between him and Lehnsherr. “I was just telling Mr. Lehnsherr about cane toads.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Angel says and then proceeds to disregard the remark completely. “Charles, I completely forgot that Raven drove you here – did you want a ride back?”  
  
Charles opens his mouth to say that it’s fine, really, he was just chatting up his extremely attractive, older boss, when someone calls from inside the house, “Angel! Get your ass back in here, it’s your turn!”  
  
“I’ll take him,” Lehnsherr interrupts and Charles will deny the fact that he splutters.   
  
“Oh God, you even live near each other,” Angel sighs in relief, ducking back into the house, “That’s perfect. Just be careful – he might throw up in your car.”  
  
“Angel!” Charles exclaims and Lehnsherr makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like laughter.  
  
The house is sweltering hot when Charles follows Lehnsherr back in. He can barely make out the figures in the kitchen; someone – possibly Sean – is doing something with a beer bottle that vaguely resembles fellatio and Charles looks away.   
  
“What about Helen?” Charles asks, as they pass by Darwin bobbing his head to EDM.  
  
“She’ll be fine,” Lehnsherr reassures Charles. “She drove herself here.”  
  
“But – ” Charles begins to start a token protest but loses Lehnsherr as they navigate their way past the collection of couches and armchairs, where the ensemble crowds around a board game with black and white cards, all yelling loudly. “Get off, Alex,” Charles mutters, hastily trying to find Lehnsherr again while simultaneously making sure the younger boy doesn’t spill his drink over Charles.   
  
He’s stumbling across the front lawn, eyes fixed on Lehnsherr’s lean figure, when he sees the car that Lehnsherr stops in front of.  
  
“Is this your car?” Charles frowns.  
  
The Bentley that they’ve stopped in front of chirps in response, its headlights flashing once before there’s a click as its doors unlock.   
  
“Is there a problem?” Lehnsherr asks easily, unperturbed, strolling over to the driver’s side of the car.  
  
“Am I riding – are you driving me home?”  
  
“Isn’t that what I said?” Lehnsherr counters and Charles sighs in acquiescence, walks over to the passenger side.   
  
“Of course you drive a Bentley,” Charles says to himself as he slides into the passenger seat. The engine purrs to life easily and Charles marvels at the cream-colored leather interior.  
  
“Milpitas?” Lehnsherr asks and Charles says, “Yes.” Then, “Do you live near there?”  
  
“A little farther north,” and Charles hums, running his fingers over the leather glove box. “I promise I’ll tell you if I feel like throwing up,” he remarks, belatedly.   
  
Lehnsherr says something in his low voice, but it melts into the purring of the engine and Charles keeps brushing his thumb against the cool leather of the Bentley.   
  
“I didn’t think I’d like it here so much,” Charles says a while later, as they’re cruising down the highway.   
  
“In California?”  
  
Charles shrugs. “I guess.” He hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to phrase his next train of thought. “Raven was the one who contacted me first, my last year at Oxford.” Charles leans his cheek against the glass window. “We – we had a falling out, before I left.” The glass is cool to the touch. “A year after I left New York, I found out through an acquaintance that she’d followed her boyfriend across the country.” Charles exhales. “Anyway, she called me just before I graduated, said there was a job that she thought I’d like here.”  
  
“And that was it?” Lehnsherr asks. His expression is, as always, unreadable. _That’s it, yep, that’s all_ , Charles considers saying.  
  
“She didn’t mention anything,” Charles frowns. “And I – ” He sighs again. “I don’t know. For now, I’m just leaving at that. Neither of us have talked about it.” He points to the right. “Make a turn here.”  
  
Lehnsherr remains silent as Charles directs him, smoothly turning corners. “Second house on the left,” Charles says after a bit and the Bentley rolls up, gravel crunching underneath its tires.  
  
There’s a click as the gears switch to park, and then nothing.   
  
“Do you want to come in?” Charles blurts out, into the nothingness.   
  
Silence hangs for a split second, before the car clicks and unlocks its doors.   
  
“Only to ensure you don’t trip and break your arm on the way inside,” Lehnsherr says and when he swings his door open, Charles allows a smile to flit across his face.   
  
The pavement leading to Charles’ house seems exceptionally short today, as Charles can hear every step that Lehnsherr takes behind him, shoes crunching under gravel.   
  
Inside, the lights take a heartbeat to flicker on, and Charles thinks that his house isn’t exceptionally clean, but not quite messy either. “Come on in.”  
  
Lehnsherr steps in after Charles, eyes raking over the interior.  
  
His house is small, the walls white and plain. “Do you want something to drink?” Charles asks, completely at a loss for proper etiquette required when your boss comes over.  
  
“Water is fine,” Lehnsherr says, and as Charles brushes past him, he recognizes once again how much _more_ Lehnsherr is – taller, wider in the shoulders and slimmer in the waist –   
  
He fumbles around in the kitchen for a bit, wonders if he should put ice in the cup, before taking one with ice and one without, making his way out of the kitchen and into the living room.   
  
“I was about eight years old when I realized I wanted to go into the sciences,” Charles says, stopping abruptly when he sees the picture frame that Lehnsherr’s wandered in front of. He sets the glasses down on a table, walks over to stand by Lehnsherr.   
  
_Genetic Code of Human Life is Cracked by Scientists_ , the New York Times article reads. “Summer of two-thousand,” Charles says. “I read that,” he nods towards the newspaper clipping, “And I knew that then that that was what I wanted to do with my life.”  
  
“At eight years old,” Lehnsherr echoes, still looking at the framed article.  
  
“Well,” concedes Charles, “Perhaps, not right then, but looking back on it, I think that – ” he points, “That was it.”  
  
Lehnsherr turns, then, just his waist and chest, so that he can look fully at Charles. That’s when Charles realizes how close they’re standing.   
  
What happens next feels unavoidable.  
  
Charles leans forward – he doesn’t mean to, but he does – acting on a compulsive thought, and he isn’t sure if Lehnsherr leans in as well, but it doesn’t really matter, because his mouth is pressed against Lehnsherr’s, head tilted slightly upwards –   
  
It feels unreal, as if Charles isn’t really there. This scene has unfolded in his head many more times than he’d care to admit, so it feels like another daydream now, the brief press of Lehnsherr’s lips against Charles’ mouth surreal.  
  
It’s just their mouths, pressed against each other, dry and firm, for a second, before Lehnsherr pulls back and Charles looks at him, his arms limp at his sides, blinking stupidly – still looking at his mouth –   
  
And then Lehnsherr lurches forward to kiss him again.  
  
This time, _this time_ , it feels real and solid, all teeth and tongue and alcohol as Lehnsherr all but slams his mouth onto Charles’ and _fuck_ , that sends a wave of heat straight down to Charles’ groin; his blood roars in his ears, heart accelerating, beating off the charts – exponential growth, logarithmic function, Charles thinks –   
  
Then he doesn’t think.  
  
He can’t. Not with Lehnsherr’s arm curling around his waist, his tongue slipping into Charles’ mouth and fuck – it’s warm and hot and wet and Charles can’t think – blood and alcohol rush through his veins, his thoughts a cocktail of _oh god_ and _fuck_ and _this is divine_.  
  
The alcohol in his system must be blurring his thoughts because one minute, Lehnsherr’s got one arm around Charles’ waist – heavy and hot – and his tongue swirling around Charles’ teeth, and then the next, Lehnsherr’s got Charles up against the wall, wrists pinned in one hand above Charles’ head and he’s still kissing him, rough and insistent.  
  
Lehnsherr practically looms over Charles, his head tilted downwards to fit his lips against Charles’ mouth, his shoulders hunched inwards over Charles’ chest and Charles can smell Lehnsherr’s cologne, heady and potent, when Lehnsherr finally pulls his mouth off of Charles. Charles gasps quietly as Lehnsherr brushes his lips underneath Charles’ ear, right against the sensitive part of Charles’ neck, lips wet against skin and Charles thinks that this is possibly the most erotic activity he’s ever partaken in in his entire life.   
  
Charles’ cock twitches in his pants, already half-hard, as Lehnsherr whispers, low and deep into Charles’ ear. “Tell me to stop.”  
  
But Charles barely registers the words, can’t even begin to understand when Lehnsherr’s hand – the same hand that Charles saw clutching the wood of the veranda at Raven’s house, the same hand that had clapped Charles on the shoulder the first time he finished his proposals, the same hand that he sees flipping through papers every day – tightens around both of Charles’ wrists, immobilizing Charles’ arms and leaving Charles writhing under Lehnsherr’s ministrations.  
  
“Fuck,” Charles gasps, eyes beginning to water when he feels a flash of teeth against his skin, feels the brush of Lehnsherr’s nose against his neck, the rough strands of his hair barely grazing Charles’ cheek.  
  
“Tell me to stop,” Lehnsherr repeats, his voice – oh God, his voice – rough with want. His free hand feels _enormous_ as it wanders down Charles’ chest, fingers skimming over the buttons of Charles’ dress shirt, down down down –  
  
And then Charles has to physically bite down on his tongue to keep a yelp from leaving his mouth when Lehnsherr’s hand cups around his crotch, palm burning hot against Charles’ erection – “ _fuck_ ,” Charles hisses instead and his hips buck instinctively, snapping into Lehnsherr’s hand and Lehnsherr fucking _squeezes_ , and a guttural groan rips itself from Charles’ throat.  
  
His hand is still working at Charles’ crotch, his thumb kneading at the outline of Charles’ balls, his long fingers pressing into the crease of Charles’ ass. Charles has never been more turned on in his life.  
  
Lehnsherr’s hand slips forward, palming at Charles’ straining cock and Charles frantically cants his hip forward, his hands squeezing tight, nails digging into his palms, tongue clamped down between his teeth as he thrusts desperately into Lehnsherr’s hand  – “Tell me to stop,” Lehnsherr hisses and when he presses his teeth into Charles’ neck, Charles moans, loud and pornographic.  
  
Cool air rushes in to replace Lehnsherr’s heat as, abruptly, the man tears himself away and Charles _whines_ , he can’t help it; he whimpers at the loss of friction, his hands falling from their perch above his head, fluttering back down like birds to brace himself against the walls.  
  
But Lehnsherr’s still there, less than an inch away and Charles pants, his eyes still fixed on Lehnsherr’s goddamn mouth –   
  
“No,” Lehnsherr says and Charles blinks, dazed.  
  
“Get yourself up, Xavier,” Lehnsherr hisses and Charles struggles to straighten against the walls, can’t remember when his knees began to buckle underneath him.  
  
“But – ”  
  
“We’re not doing this,” Lehnsherr reiterates, voice hoarse, and Charles’ erection still presses against the seams of his dress pants, creases wrinkled. Charles looks at Lehnsherr’s face, really looks at him, and Lehnsherr looks ruined, his pupils blown and his lips red – _I did that,_ Charles thinks –   
  
“Go to sleep, Xavier,” Lehnsherr says again, but his words sound muddled, as if they’re underwater. “You’re drunk.”  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles starts and his voice sounds wrecked –   
  
Lehnsherr lets out a choked sound, eyes fluttering shut. “Come on,” he says a moment later, eyes opening. He nudges Charles in the direction of the hallway leading to his bedroom, one hand pushing on his shoulder and Charles knows that that hand was on his cock just a minute ago, palming at his erection – “Go to sleep.”  
  
Charles blinks and he’s walking down the hall, pushing the door open to his bedroom.  
  
“We’ll talk when you’re sober,” Lehnsherr says, or at least Charles thinks he does, because he’s already falling into his bed, eyes shut before his head even hits the pillow.


	2. two

The relationship between structure and function is manifest in the double helix. The idea that there are specific pairings of nitrogenous bases in DNA was the flash of inspiration that led Watson and Crick to the correct double helix. At the same time, they saw the functional significance of the base-pairing rules. They ended their classic paper with this wry statement: “It has not escaped our notice that the specific pairing we have postulated immediately suggests a possible copying mechanism for the genetic material.”  
  
\- J. D. Watson and F. H. Crick, “Molecular Structure of Nucleic Acids: A structure for Deoxynucleic Acids.” _Nature_ 171 (1953): 738  
  
  
Two  
  
Sunlight wakes Charles.   
  
For a few minutes, Charles tries to go back under, slip back into sleep, but his head pounds with a vicious hangover and his mouth tastes bitter.  
  
“Fuck,” Charles groans. His belt and pants are uncomfortably tight, and, with a jolt, he realizes that he’s still in the clothes he wore last night. Then he remembers a black Bentley, cream-colored leather, and the feel of Lehnsherr’s palm against his crotch, a hand pinning his arms above his head –   
  
“Fuck,” Charles repeats.  
  
When he finally drags himself from his bed and feels like a human being again – this is after several glasses of water and Advil – he checks his phone, squinting at several indecipherable messages from Angel and various iterations of ‘ _r u ok??1?!_ ’ from Raven. He sends Raven a quick apology, but doesn’t really expect an answer for a few hours. If Charles’ hangover is this bad, Raven and the rest of them will be dead to the world until much later.   
  
As Charles stumbles into the shower, he shrugs his shirt off, yanking his pants down roughly. His pants scrape his thighs, material dragging roughly over his sensitive skin. He thinks he can feel his brain throbbing inside his head, pounding against his skull and Charles gasps as the freezing water splashes onto his skin.   
  
Quickly, he reaches out blindly to fumble at the metal handle, yanking it over so that the water that rushes out becomes warmer.   
  
Charles finishes scrubbing his hair, shampoo suds rippling down his chest in rivulets, collecting around the dark patch of hair around the base of Charles’ cock, when he looks down. He tugs at his cock experimentally, and almost immediately, thoughts of Lehnsherr from last night resurface.  
  
He really shouldn’t, but Charles thinks of Lehnsherr’s hands, large and hot, clasping his shoulder, palming his dick, grabbing his wrists.   
  
Pumping his hand desperately, Charles squeezes his eyes shut and lets the rush of water mask the breathy pants that escape from between his lips. He thinks of the way Lehnsherr had kissed, hard enough to bruise, the way his lips roamed over the skin of Charles’ neck; he imagines Lehnsherr’s hand slipping under his waistband, deft fingers undoing Charles’ belt and dipping down to cup his cock, mouth hot against his neck –  
  
He comes with a strangled cry. Water sluicing down his chest until his breathing returns to normal.  
  
As he towels his hair, Charles glances at himself in the foggy mirror. His hair curls into dark ringlets on his skull, plastered against his skin. Charles brushes his wet fringes with his pinky finger, eyes himself speculatively.   
  
On the side of his neck, right underneath his right ear and underneath the juncture between neck and jaw, Charles sees the beginnings of a hickey, pale purple and blue, like a splotch of indigo ink staining his skin, light enough to be mistaken as a light bruise. When Charles leans in close to the mirror, he thinks he sees an imprint of teeth.  
  
His stomach lurches. Even so, Charles can’t stop himself from reaching up with two fingers, tracing around the edges of the contusion, delineating where skin turns to bruise, like he’s a cartographer mapping the edges of a foreign territory.  
  
Cursing under his breath, Charles throws his clothes back on and walks out of the bathroom.  
  
The rest of the day blurs into eating lunch barefoot in the kitchen, half-heartedly flipping through a project that Charles is working on with Hank, and furiously jerking himself off in front of his computer, a box of tissues waiting on a nearby table.   
  
As much as Charles wishes it wouldn’t, the next day comes, the big hand chasing the littler one around Charles’ clock, ticking relentlessly.   
  
The following morning, he wakes to his alarm, showers and puts on his gray suit – sans tie – and talks himself through an imaginary conversation with Lehnsherr in the car on the way to work.   
  
“I apologize for Saturday night; I was completely inebriated and had absolutely no control over myself when I began to maul you,” Charles tells the van ahead of him on the freeway. “Fuck.”  
  
He walks into X-Trusion, lets the stream of conversation and hustling wash over him. He hastens into an elevator, “Three, please,” and readjusts his grip on his briefcase, the worn handle familiar around his fingers.  
  
The door to Lehnsherr’s office is half open and his shutters are shut; “Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles begins, has half an apology out as he shoulders his way into the room when he sees Helen Cho perched on Lehnsherr’s desk.  
  
And she looks at him with such a knowing gaze that Charles feels his hickey burning. He feels his skin flushing and when he darts his gaze over Lehnsherr, who does not make eye contact.  
  
“Sorry,” Charles says, belatedly, begins to back out when Helen interrupts him.   
  
“It’s fine,” she smiles tightly, “I was just leaving.” When she brushes past Charles, she comments lightly, “Some get-together, huh?” and Charles is staring at a rather interesting bit of the wall, his skin burning, praying that his blush will cease.  
  
The door shuts behind Helen with a decisive click and Charles blurts out the rest of his apology – “I’m sorry, for Saturday night, I didn’t mean to; you see, I have a really low alcohol tolerance – ” Charles is blabbering, he can feel himself talking a million miles an hour and he can’t stop – “I swear, it won’t ever happen again – ”  
  
Lehnsherr slams a hand on the desk with a resounding thud. “Goddammit, Xavier, will you shut up for one minute,” and Charles snaps his jaws together, finally allows himself to look at Lehnsherr.   
  
The man has his head in his hands, does not look up when he says, “Don’t ever mention it again.”  
  
And Charles nods vehemently, stomach curdling with something sour, before he realizes the other man can’t see him. “I won’t,” he verbalizes, and this is when Lehnsherr finally lifts his head from his hands, his expression stormy, looking straight ahead.  
  
“You may leave now,” Lehnsherr says and Charles doesn’t even try to fight the blush anymore, the burning sensation all over his chest and cheeks as he turns on his heels, ready to flee the room.  
  
His hand is on the doorknob, ready to turn the handle and leave before he can make a greater idiot of himself when Lehnsherr calls out. “Xavier.”  
  
Charles clears his throat with some difficulty. “Mr. Lehnsherr?” Charles turns slightly, enough to see Lehnsherr’s gaze fixed on a spot above Charles’ right shoulder.  
  
“I expect to see McCoy’s project on my desk by the end of next week.”  
  
Charles struggles to control a wave of inexplicable emotion that rises in his chest. “Yes sir.”  
  
-  
  
After that, Charles becomes hyperaware of Lehnsherr: every time one of them goes into the other’s office to discuss proposals or papers or something of the like, Charles’ attention zeros in on Lehnsherr, the way his pants are always perfectly creased, the way the material of his shirt bunches at the back of his shirt, the infinitesimal creases at the small of his back.  
  
Lehnsherr is distant as ever, perhaps even more than he was when Charles first met him; any discussion between the two of them is reduced down to the bare minimum, but it still doesn’t stop the way Charles’ mouth dries sometimes when his gaze lingers on Lehnsherr’s hands.   
  
On one particular Wednesday, Charles flips through a set of abstracts that he’s looked over for Hank, outlines for a few of Hank’s successful experiments. Pleased with his work, Charles begins to stroll down the hallway toward Lehnsherr’s office.   
  
He’s knocked on the door already, is halfway in the office when he realizes that there’s someone else in the room besides Lehnsherr. _Champagne-Lady_ , his brain helpfully supplies.  
  
“Oh,” Charles says. “Sorry. I’ll just – ” he makes a jerky gesture towards the door when Lehnsherr sighs. “It’s fine, Xavier.”  
  
Charles raises the pile of abstracts. “I’ve finished.”   
  
He’s handing the stack over to Lehnsherr when the brunette, who’s been eyeing him speculatively since he stepped into the room, says, “Take him.”  
  
“I’m sorry?” Charles says, at exactly the same time Lehnsherr says, “No.”  
  
“Take Xavier,” the woman says. “He’ll take notes for me.”  
  
Charles says intelligently, “Um.”  
  
“For the last time, Moira, I don’t need to bring anyone.”  
  
“Erik!” Moira says in a scandalized tone. Charles thinks that this is the first time he’s ever heard anyone call Lehnsherr by his first name. “Your notes are _atrocious_ and you never tell me what I miss!”  
  
“I don’t understand why you can’t just go yourself,” Lehnsherr says without a hint of emotion, continues scribbling on Hank’s abstracts.  
  
“Don’t move,” Moira directs to Charles, who halts in his attempts to shuffle out of the room. She smiles at him. “Sorry.” She turns to Lehnsherr again. “I told Janos, I told Helen, and I told you Erik. I have other obligations! My department won’t run itself.”  
  
“Nor will mine,” Lehnsherr counters and Moira rolls her eyes, looks at Charles with an exasperated look that clearly reads, _can you believe him?_ Charles bites his tongue to keep from grinning.   
  
“I expect you to fill me in on Friday,” Moira almost singsongs when she starts to leave. “Nice to meet you again, Charles,” Moira says to Charles, almost as an afterthought. She turns to him and leans in to murmur, “Don’t let him out of your sight tomorrow.” And then a little louder, “Goodbye Erik.”  
  
“So,” Charles says when he hears the telltale ding of the elevator, announcing Moira’s departure. He turns away from the door to look at Lehnsherr, who’s still reading as if the whole exchange hadn’t even occurred. Lehnsherr looks up with his eyebrows raised in question. “What’s tomorrow?”  
  
“You’re coming with me to a board meeting,” Lehnsherr says, with a touch of resignation. “Moira’s flying out to Seattle to discuss some things with the chairman at Boeing.”  
  
When Lehnsherr holds up the signed abstracts, Charles steps in to take them without a word of prompting. “Tell Cassidy to give these to McCoy.” Lehnsherr’s gaze flits over Charles briefly, takes in his soft gray cardigan and pale slacks. Charles resists the urge to flush under his scrutinizing eyes.   
  
Finally, after a moment that feels like infinity, Lehnsherr says, “Wear a tie tomorrow.”  
  
-  
  
As the next day finally rolls around, Charles finds himself frowning at his laptop when Lehnsherr raps sharply on the doorframe of Charles’ office.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr.”  
  
As always, Charles’ flickers over Lehnsherr’s lean figure, admiring the way that his bespoke suit clings to Lehnsherr’s legs, accentuates the broad line of his shoulders. The gray material of Lehnsherr’s suit jacket clings to Lehnsherr’s waist, the knot of his dark tie impeccable. In his crisp suit, Lehnsherr’s cuts an impressive figure, all sharp lines and dangerous edges.   
  
“Come on,” the other man says curtly, already moving out of Charles’ office and into the hallway. “We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”  
  
“The meeting isn’t here?” Charles follows Lehnsherr, feels a bit like a secretary if he’s being honest, clutching his notepad and clipboard.   
  
“It’s outside of San Francisco,” Lehnsherr says, doesn’t look behind him to see Charles following along.   
  
“Is it only the regents then?” Charles asks.   
  
Lehnsherr begins a curt explanation about the difference between department heads and the board of regents when Charles halts in his tracks abruptly. In the midst of Lehnsherr’s explanation, he hadn’t even noticed that they’ve stopped on the ground floor of the parking complex, a short walk from the X-Trusion building.   
  
“We’re taking your car?”  
  
“Get in, Xavier,” Lehnsherr says, almost like it pains him.   
  
Charles slides into the passenger seat easily, and he quickly stomps down a series of memories threatening to relive themselves.  
  
The first few minutes of the car ride are stilted and uncomfortable, to say the least; Charles has his hands twisted in his lap and Lehnsherr’s jaw clenches. They peel out of the parking lot and Charles lowers his sun visor.  
  
When Lehnsherr rolls through a stop sign, Charles doesn’t even attempt to resist the derisive snort that bubbles from his chest.  “Sorry,” Charles says, attempting to hide his grin behind the back of his hand.  
  
Charles practically feels Lehnsherr rolling his eyes and gives himself a mental pat on the back.  
  
That seems to defuse some of the ever-present tension, and Lehnsherr loosens into his seat when Charles begins to discuss Hank’s newest scientific interest.   
  
“No, think about it!” Charles insists, as Lehnsherr exits the freeway. “X-Trusion is an engineering company, right? What better way to expand than into the genetic engineering field? Bioinformatics and bioengineering are exploding in terms of relevance,” Charles insists, “We wouldn’t even have to fix X-Trusion’s description to fit it in with the biomed department.”  
  
“I get enough of that with Moira and Helen; I don’t need it from you too, Xavier,” Lehnsherr says absently, and Charles realizes that the man isn’t taking him seriously.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles insists, “I’m telling you, this is an unbelievable opportunity – ”  
  
“We’re here,” Lehnsherr interrupts indifferently and Charles sighs.  
  
“I’m warning you ahead of time,” Lehnsherr says, as they stride up to the hotel, entering the spacious foyer. “These meetings are dreadful. The regents just sit and argue over how to spend money and nothing gets done.”  
  
“Fabulous,” Charles says drily, still bitter.  
  
The hotel elevator begins to slide shut when a female voice calls out, “Hold on!”  
  
Lehnsherr sticks out a foot, into the way of the door so that it automatically jerks back, opens up to reveal a tall woman with blonde hair, dressed in an uncomfortable-looking white leather outfit.   
  
“What a surprise,” she drawls, her platinum curls and diamond earrings bobbing as she speaks. “Nice to see you, Erik.” Her eyes pierce into Lehnsherr with such vicious intensity that Charles shifts awkwardly.  
  
“Ms. Frost,” Lehnsherr says, doesn’t even so much as blink at her.   
  
“Hello,” Frost turns to Charles, her chin raised in a challenge, and Charles begins to reply when Lehnsherr lets out a low chuckle. Charles freezes in surprise.   
  
“Don’t talk to her, Xavier.”  
  
Frost lets out a bubbly laughter that sounds oddly forced. “Oh God,” she sighs, shaking her head fondly before turning her steely eyes to watch Lehnsherr’s back. “Erik, why don’t you introduce your new assistant to me.” Frost throws a sharp glance at Charles. “He’s so handsome.”  
  
“You know perfectly well who he is,” Lehnsherr deflects easily and Frost visibly bristles, her hand tightening on her purse, lips pressing into a thin line. She stares daggers into Erik’s back for a moment, before turning back to Charles.  
  
“Couldn’t help it,” Frost purrs and Charles refuses to look anywhere other than forward. “How’s Mr. Lehnsherr treating you, Charles?”   
  
“Fine,” Charles says, when Lehnsherr offers no assistance.   
  
Frost’s eyes flash with something indiscernible. She shifts her weight. “Really? Perhaps you ought to stop by my department sometime,” Frost says off-handedly, brushing at her skirt. “I’d treat you wonderfully,” and Charles clears his throat uncomfortably.   
  
“He works hard,” Lehnsherr says, still watching the elevator buttons. “I’m not sure it’s quite your style.”  
  
They’re just getting off the elevator when an older woman scuttles up to them.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr, I’m afraid the meeting’s been pushed back a few minutes; the conference room is being occupied by – ”  
  
Lehnsherr waves a dismissive hand, barely glancing at the woman. “That’s fine, Laura, we’ll be waiting in the other room.”  
  
Charles follows Lehnsherr, barely has time to take in the lavish carpets and grandiose glass windows before Lehnsherr jerks his head impatiently. “Come on.”  
  
Lehnsherr leaves Frost behind him as he pushes his way into an empty lounge that connects with a restroom, dropping his briefcase on the floor next to an armchair. Charles quickly follows.  
  
“So,” Charles says, more to himself than anyone else. He drops into a sofa and gazes at the gilded framing of a floor-length mirror, the silky fabric of the sofa.   
  
“Ms. Frost isn’t particularly fond of me.”  
  
Charles snorts. “Understatement of the year.”  
  
“Fix your tie,” Lehnsherr answers and Charles frowns down at the thing.  
  
“It looks fine.”  
  
“Fix it.”  
  
“Christ,” Charles mumbles, fingers tugging at the tie, attempting to pull it to the side but only succeeds in tightening the knot, making it even more crooked than before.  
  
Lehnsherr swears in something that sounds suspiciously like German before saying, in English, “Come here.”  
  
Charles stands before he can think better of it, walks over to where Lehnsherr is and even with a foot’s distance away from them, Charles’ palms begin to moisten.  
  
“Can’t even tie a tie,” Lehnsherr mutters, his eyes fixed on the offending knot. He reaches out and grabs the end, tugs slightly so that Charles is forced to stop closer and the action feels much more erotic than it should. Charles looks up, at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, doesn’t look anywhere near Lehnsherr.  
  
Charles can barely breathe evenly as he feels Lehnsherr’s fingers brush against his neck, like matchsticks scraping phosphorus, on his skin, on his Adam’s apple, on the hollow of his throat. He fights to control his breath. To slow his heartbeat, Charles mentally lists all of the molecular functional groups and their properties.   
  
He’s on carboxylic acid when Lehnsherr finally steps back. “Better,” the man says, after a moment of delay.  
  
“Right,” Charles says, unable to think of anything else to say. He blinks twice and Lehnsherr’s already halfway across the lounge, picking up his briefcase and adjusting his cufflinks.  
  
“Let’s go,” he says, barely gives Charles a moment to recollect himself before heading out the door. Charles picks up his briefcase, swears colorfully, and follows.  
  
-  
  
“That was one of the most boring things I’ve ever sat through in my life,” Charles says, as they emerge from the hotel. He squints at the sun. “And I’ve sat through a course of European History.”  
  
“No one from the company pays attention to the board meetings,” Lehnsherr says, striding towards the parking lot. “Besides Moira, that is.”  
  
Charles is still grumbling to himself about the Bismarckian System of Alliances when they finally get to the car.   
  
“Anyway,” Charles continues, decidedly more cheerfully as they pull onto the freeway. He refuses to give in to the ball of twisted anxiety in his gut. “I really do think you should look into the bioengineering field.”  
  
“Xavier,” Lehnsherr sighs the name – and Charles does not shiver with delight – “I’ve been department head for nearly a decade – ”  
  
Charles interrupts without thinking, “Ten years ago I was in middle school,” and Lehnsherr makes a throaty sound – like he’s clearing his throat but changed his mind half-way through –  
  
“I’ve been department head for ten years,” Lehnsherr says again, “Don’t you think I’d know what was best for my department?”  
  
Charles waits for a moment, listens to the hum of the engine as Lehnsherr maneuvers around a particularly slow car, then says, “Honestly, I don’t understand why you won’t consider it.”  
  
“I’m considering it.”  
  
“Seriously considering it,” Charles clarifies.  
  
Lehnsherr essentially retorts, “Write up a proposal for me and I will.”  
  
“Fine,” Charles says. He thinks to himself, _if he’ll be stubborn about it, then so will I_.  
  
-  
  
After that, things return to some sort of normality.   
  
Charles will pop his head into Erik’s – Lehnsherr’s, he corrects himself – office every so often, asking about one thing or another, and Lehnsherr will treat him the same way that he did before Raven’s party. Charles spends half his time up in the office, and the other half down in the labs.  
  
He asks Darwin about Emma Frost the next week.   
  
To Charles’ seemingly innocuous question, Darwin lets out a barking laugh. “God, she fucking _hates_ him. She’s wanted to be biomed department head ever since she got her. I swear, she’ll do anything to get it.”  
  
“She already is,” a low voice interrupts and Alex emerges from the backrooms, carrying two cardboard boxes. He plunks them onto a table next to Darwin.  
  
“He’s firm,” Hank finally looks up from his notes to join the conversation, “But he’s fair. Lehnsherr’s better than Frost any day.”  
  
Letting out a noise of agreement, Darwin adds, “He works hard, man. Harder than any of his employees, and hey,” Darwin raises two arms in a peaceful gesture, “He gave me a job when no one else would.”  
  
“He’s never put a toe out of line,” Hank remarks, scribbling furiously.   
  
“Frost would tear him apart if he did,” Alex notes and Darwin interjects a remark about an ongoing bet they had, to see if Lehnsherr would ever not wear a tie to work, but Charles’ head is already whirring, his mind humming in consideration.  
  
On another Friday, several weeks after the board meeting, Charles finds himself working after hours once more, the third floor of X-Trusion completely silent, save for the tapping of Charles’ fingers against his keyboard.   
  
He’s engrossed with this project outline – a particularly complicated 3D printing process involving selective laser sintering delicate gears out of metal powder – so he doesn’t notice when someone pads up to his office, knocks on the open door.   
  
Charles looks up. His chest constricts for a second as he takes in Lehnsherr leaning against the doorframe, hands folding in his pockets. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the dark maroon of his tie, which in turn, is tucked into his waistcoat. Even so, Charles can see the fine material of Lehnsherr’s dress shirt, stretched tight over his chest.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles says, swallows down the knot in his throat, “I was just going to look for you. I was wondering if you could look over the outline and help me submit it online – Darwin said that normally Pritchett would help him enter it in, but – ”  
  
“The building’s closing,” Lehnsherr interrupts. “The computer system will be down in five minutes, and the lights in ten.”  
  
Charles frowns, glances at his watch with irritation. He swears under his breath.   
  
“We’ll finish it tomorrow, Xavier. It’s time to go.”  
  
“Oh God, I can’t,” Charles blurts out. “I mean, I wanted to finish it today so Hank wouldn’t have to worry about it tomorrow – it’s his and Raven’s anniversary, and I know she wanted to go out; but you see, Hank has to finish this and submit it online to Helen, so I thought I – ”  
  
Lehnsherr looks very pointedly at the clock and says, “We’re leaving.”  
  
Charles opens his mouth to protest but Lehnsherr’s already turning around, heading out.   
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles starts.  
  
“Now, Xavier,” the man calls out behind him.  
  
Charles swears. He sweeps his papers into his briefcase and quickly closes his laptop, barely remembers to lock his office door behind him. Jogging into the elevator, Charles implores, “Mr. Lehnsherr, maybe there’s some way you can allow Hank take the day off tomorrow, I really – ”  
  
Lehnsherr gives Charles a look. “Are you always this persistent?”   
  
“You know I am,” counters Charles. He strides quickly after the biomed department head, still talking. “Mr. Lehnsherr, I just wanted to give Raven and Hank this one favor, after all that she’s – ”  
  
Lehnsherr speaks over him easily, walking as soon as the elevator opens. “My account is the only one with the proper authorization for Hank to submit his work, aside from Devina’s.”  
  
Charles blinks dumbly. “I don’t – ”  
  
Outside, Charles hears the telltale splatter of rain.  
  
“And I have my authorization documents at my home,” Lehnsherr continues.  
  
“I – ”  
  
“Just follow my car, Xavier, it shouldn’t be that hard.”  
  
And that’s when it hits Charles – Lehnsherr’s offering Charles a way to submit the outline.  
  
“I can do that,” Charles says quickly, and Charles’ head feels a little faint.  
  
“Good,” says Lehnsherr, heads out of the lobby and into the rain.   
  
The two of them make an odd pair, half-jogging half-striding towards the parking lot, arms held fruitlessly over their heads as they make their way to their respective cars. Charles hardly notices the rain soaking his clothes as he slides into his car, starts the engine, his thoughts miles away.   
  
He’s thinking of how to conclude his outline properly when Lehnsherr veers off the freeway, sliding across four lanes to make the next exit.  
  
Charles stamps his foot on the accelerator as he rushes around a series of cars, follows his boss off the freeway.   
  
He’s still swearing under his breath when Lehnsherr pulls into a secluded neighborhood off the main road, drives for a bit and parks next to a spacious house with a sprawling front yard.   
  
Rain still pours – heavy and warm, a brief drizzle in the midst of warm weather – when Charles rushes out of his car, follows Lehnsherr up to his house. He doesn’t have time to admire the well-kept lawn or the bushes of purplish flowers by the door, just barrels into the house as soon as Lehnsherr unlocks the front door.  
  
“Christ,” Charles announces, wiping the rain from his eyelashes. When he looks up, Lehnsherr’s house faces him, large and clean and spacious.   
  
The front door leads to a large living room, complete with an expensive-looking couch set and beige walls. A little to the left, a carpeted spiral staircase curves up to a second floor, the ceiling high above them. The mahogany wood floor snakes around the living room, around the staircase, disappearing down a hallway.   
  
Then Charles turns his gaze towards Lehnsherr, takes in the way his suit sticks to him like a second skin, clinging to his broad chest and around his waist; Charles’ eyes linger on the way the material of Lehnsherr’s shirt bunches under his zipper, slightly wrinkled around his beltline and Charles has to jerk his eyes away when Lehnsherr says, “This way.”  
  
It feels strange, Charles thinks, as he follows Lehnsherr down the dimly lit hallway, through an open door and into an open office space, that they keep ending up together, in places they really shouldn’t be –   
  
“It’s nice,” Charles says, taking in the way a lamp illuminates the room with a soft, creamy light, falls over a clean workspace at one end of the office and the couch, shrouded in the corner.   
  
“I suppose,” Lehnsherr murmurs, walking over to the desk. He taps the keyboard to wake the computer, typing in a password rapidly.  
  
Charles sniffs, wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, eyes perusing the way Lehnsherr’s wet pants cling to his ass, and Charles halts that train of thought immediately; he shouldn’t be looking at Lehnsherr, let alone be thinking –   
  
Lehnsherr says, “Are you cold?” as the computer logs on with a chime.   
  
“I’m fine. Thank you,” Charles says, watching Lehnsherr pull up the proper website, log in after glancing at a post-it note taped to the edge of the computer monitor.   
  
“All yours,” announces Lehnsherr a moment later. He steps back to let Charles slide into the chair, pull out his own papers from his briefcase.   
  
In less than a minute, Charles falls into the easy rhythm of work once more – editing his outline and submitting each section into the corresponding folder online. He barely registers the cool slick of rainwater slipping down his spine, dripping from his hair, soaking his socks.  
  
Charles doesn’t know how much time passes; he stares at his paper, willing his conclusion to miraculously emerge from within Hank’s scribbles, when Lehnsherr nudges his shoulder with a knuckle.   
  
Looking up, Charles blinks bemusedly.  
  
Lehnsherr’s still wearing his wet clothes, Charles realizes, but he’s taken off the suit jacket and waistcoat; his dress shirt plasters to his chest, and Charles thinks that he can make out the dark smudge of a nipple –   
  
“I – yes?” Charles says.   
  
Jerking his head to the side, Lehnsherr nods towards a pile of dry clothes by the computer monitor.  
  
“Oh.” Charles looks back up at Lehnsherr. “For me?”  
  
Lehnsherr says, “That’s why I put it there.”  
  
Charles thanks him absent-mindedly, already starting to turn towards the computer screen once more. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lehnsherr disappear once more, probably to change out of his wet clothes.   
  
By the time Charles has finished, his body begins to shiver, his thigh bouncing anxiously. As he reaches over to grab the dark sweater, Charles simultaneously clicks ‘submit’ with a satisfied murmur.   
  
After toeing off his shoes and socks, Charles pulls off his wet dress shirt, wincing as his skin hits cold air, when he hears a loud, “Xavier?”   
  
Lehnsherr comes through the office wearing dry clothes. Both him and Charles freeze: Lehnsherr in the doorway and Charles’ hands where they work on his belt. Lehnsherr visibly hesitates and Charles could swear that his eyes flit down to Charles’ belt –   
  
Then he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing just once, before turning away. “Don’t forget to log off once you’re finished,” he says.   
  
The room seems to shrink as Lehnsherr moves further into the room, over to rummage through a filing cabinet.  
  
It’s as if the room is holding its breath, the entirety of Lehnsherr’s house frozen in time, frozen in anticipation as Charles compulsively peels off his wet slacks, his black boxers underneath clinging to his legs. _You really shouldn’t_ , Charles thinks, but he’s already here, and he likes the way that Lehnsherr looks at him like that.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr?”   
  
When Lehnsherr turns, he inhales rapidly, sucking in a bit of air; Charles catches Lehnsherr’s eyes raking over Charles’ form and Charles’ traitorous heart lurches in its cavity.   
  
And Charles stands there, feeling oddly vulnerable, clenches his leg muscles so they don’t shiver, and says, “Can I have a towel?”  
  
For a moment, Charles stays still, unsure of what to do with his hands, as Lehnsherr leaves the room without a word. Charles eyes the pile of wet clothes on the floor and picks them up, folds them quickly.   
  
When Lehnsherr comes back, he crosses the room in a few long strides. Charles stands there in his underwear, dripping wet.  
  
The light of the single lamp falls gently on Lehnsherr’s face, subdues his features into something soft and surreal. However, instead of handing the towel over to Charles, Lehnsherr comes closer, causes Charles’ blood to boil in his veins, heart thumping dangerously quick.  
  
It feels unreal as Lehnsherr steps closer, like the inexorable pull of the ocean; Charles leans back against the desk behind him, his hip bumping into the lip of the desk –   
  
And then Lehnsherr comes very close, close enough for Charles to catch the scent of petrichor and cologne, close enough for Charles to count every single one of his dark eyelashes, close enough for Charles to see the faint smattering of black flecks in his eyes but not close enough to touch, never close enough to touch.   
  
In his peripheral vision, Charles sees Lehnsherr place the towel to the right of Charles’ left hip, onto the table, and what happens next feels inevitable; Lehnsherr is the crashing tide and Charles is the shoreline, waiting for his every touch.   
  
Lehnsherr hesitates for a moment, his dilated eyes belying the way his body jerks in indecision, before lurching forward, his lips parted. And the whirlpool drags in the reef, Charles thinks.  
  
Desire races hot, pulses quick through Charles’ body as he reaches out to fist his hands in Lehnsherr’s cotton shirt and Lehnsherr’s hands grab onto Charles’ hips, large and hot against his skin, pushing him back against the table so that the small of his back digs into the edge of the desk. One of Lehnsherr’s hands reaches out to grab the swell of Charles’ ass – “Jesus Christ,” Charles whimpers at that – Lehnsherr’s entire palm spanning across Charles’ bottom.  
  
There’s a noisy clack as Charles’ teeth collide with Lehnsherr’s, a result of their sloppy kiss but Charles pays it no mind, eagerly pushes his tongue into Lehnsherr’s mouth without provocation.  
  
Charles’ body melts underneath Lehnsherr’s hands, which are rough and blisteringly warm. Ten fingers dig bruises into Charles’ skin, gripping his ass – tight – and yanking up so that their hips slot together and all of Charles’ blood travels to his groin in a humiliating rush. Everything else that Charles has experienced before doesn’t even compare to this, not to the way Lehnsherr’s tongue rasps against Charles’, his grip fiercely tight and the hot line of his cock pressing against Charles’ chest.  
  
And all Charles can think about is how big Lehnsherr’s cock is, even now, only half-hard, how thick it feels against Charles’ belly –   
  
“ _Mein Gott,_ ” Lehnsherr gasps, pulling away from Charles’ lips to breathe heavily, and Charles bucks his hips eagerly against him in reply, all but humping Lehnsherr’s thigh in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure. “Xavier, we can’t – ”  
  
“Please,” Charles pants, snakes his hands up to wrap around the back of Lehnsherr’s neck and Lehnsherr positively _growls_ , one hand tightening on Charles’ ass and the other reaching around to tug Charles’ boxers down.  
  
“Please,” Charles repeats, and he almost forgets to breathe when Lehnsherr dips his fingers below Charles’ waistband, wraps his hot palm around Charles’ straining erection.   
  
Lehnsherr swears softly and he looks _wrecked_ , eyes blown and chest heaving, as he leans down to mouth at Charles’ collarbone.   
  
“Oh my God,” Charles chokes out, throws his head back and Lehnsherr runs his lips up the pillar of Charles’ neck, brushing over his jugular vein before stopping right under his ear, just like last time.   
  
“Say my name,” he whispers and Charles groans wantonly when Lehnsherr begins to pump his hand around Charles’ cock, thumb brushing over the head to catch the wetness leaking from there.   
  
“I – ” Charles begins, his voice warbled.  
  
“Say it,” Lehnsherr repeats and his voice low and sensual.   
  
“Erik,” Charles gasps, and Charles’ toes curl in pleasure as Lehnsherr – as Erik – pumps faster, relentless in his pace. “Jesus fuck, _Erik_.”  
  
Charles feels his balls tightening and his eyes squeeze shut – the telltale swoop present in his stomach as his heart stutters for a moment – and then he comes in a humiliating rush, embarrassingly fast, Erik’s name still written on his lips.   
  
His thoughts collect themselves a moment later and it feels like Charles has woken from a trance when he finally cracks his eyes open, feels Erik working a hickey onto his neck, still stroking Charles absent-mindedly.   
  
“Did you – ” Charles’ voice cracks and he flushes. Erik pulls his lips off of Charles’ neck with a wet noise. “Did you,” he glances down, sees Erik’s cock still straining against his slacks.  
  
“Come on,” Erik mutters, a thumb brushing over Charles’ bottom lip, pushes Charles towards the sofa at the end of the room.   
  
And Charles stumbles backwards obediently, as if in a trance, every bone in his body melted into something satiated and pliant. He falls onto the cushions with a soft plop, his thighs warm and sticky against the white leather of the couch, but he can’t bring himself to care. The room is still so soft, light buttery yellow, throwing shadows across Erik’s face and his chest. Charles watches shamelessly as Erik leans over him, flicking his belt open with one hand, the metal buckle springing open as if responding to Erik’s touch.   
  
With one foot firmly planted on the floor, Erik lifts the other knee and rests it besides Charles’ waist on the couch; one hand extends out to grip the back of the couch right to Charles’ head and Charles watches him reach into his pants to pull out his cock, which is thick as it is long, jutting out and curving towards Erik’s belly.   
  
The leather of the sofa creaks once, quietly, as Erik leans forward, his broad shoulders all but blocking out the light behind him, so that shadows fall onto Charles’ bare chest.   
  
Erik bends his head, neck curving so that he can press his cheek against Charles’ and Charles can’t stop looking at Erik’s cock as he works it furiously in his hand. Charles imagines how they must look now from the office doorway – Erik, fully clothed saved for his cock – and Charles sprawled out dissolute on the couch underneath him, come splattered on his chest and his cock limp.  
  
Charles shifts slightly, glances a bit to the right to see Erik’s hand clenching the sofa so tight his knuckles are white, before looking back.   
  
There’s a single vein running up Erik’s shaft, disappearing into the head of his cock, where a small bead of precome collects. Charles curls his hands into fists at his sides, tells himself not to touch. The room fills with Erik’s shallow pants, the obscene squelch of his fist against his cock as he begins to pump faster and he looks pained when his mouth falls open slightly, eyebrows furrowing as his lips form a single word: “Charles – ”  
  
Erik’s hand is large, encompasses most of the girth of his cock in a palm and it looks pornographic, the image of Erik jerking himself against the pale backdrop of Charles’ stomach and chest; Charles’ own cock lies limp on his right thigh, flaccid and drooling but Charles can’t stop watching Erik – even as Charles feels a slick mixture of come and sweat drip down his thigh, he can’t bring himself to move – not even to touch Erik, so he sits there, as Erik bends over him, all lean muscle and tan skin against Charles’ soft thighs and pale belly.  
  
And then Erik comes suddenly, with a strained groan like he’s holding it in; Charles wants to tell him not to hold back but his own hands are still pinned to his sides so he says nothing, watches, rapt, as Erik comes in thick, hot spurts, over Charles’ belly and thigh.   
  
“Jesus,” Charles breathes. The smell of sex permeates the room, musty and pungent.   
  
And there’s a long second of silence, where Charles’ throat dries so he can’t say anything; he can’t even begin to comprehend what happened, and he’s still looking at Erik’s cock – just like he has been this whole time –  
  
When Erik speaks again, his voice is a low rasp. “You should go.”  
  
For a heartbeat, Charles’ eyes close. “Right,” he says, as flatly as he can, reopening his eyes and trying his best to ignore the pool of disappointment in his gut.   
  
But Erik doesn’t move; he’s looking down at Charles’ chest and Charles wants to touch him so badly, run his hands along Erik’s mouth and fist his palms in Erik’s hair –   
  
Instead, he echoes, “I should go.”  
  
Erik rasps, “Right,” and moves slowly, backing off the couch.   
  
When Charles gets up, he winces, muscles clenching and unclenching with a not inconsiderable amount of effort. The world spins around him and Charles cannot comprehend what just happened, what he just did.   
  
Erik walks back to grab the towel, doesn’t meet Charles’ gaze when the latter takes it, wipes himself clean.   
  
Leaning down vulnerably, Charles swipes his wet clothes from the floor, starts shaking them out and putting them back on when Erik jerks his head to the pile of clean clothes on the desk. “Put those on.”  
  
Charles’ mouth begins to form a token protest when Erik says, “I’ll just pick them up from your house later,” and Charles nods, remembers with a jolt that Erik knows where he lives.  
  
They don’t talk as they redress – Erik tucks himself back into his pants and Charles’ heart thuds loudly in his chest as he tugs Erik’s black sweater on; it smells of sharp cologne and rasps gently against Charles’ skin.   
  
Charles grabs his briefcase when he’s finished, the handle worn and familiar in his hand. His throat feels impossibly dry and he wants to say something to Erik because they should talk about this – they can’t _not_ talk about this – but he doesn’t say a word, bites on his tongue and tightens his grip around his briefcase.  
  
Erik leads the way to the door, his muscles rippling underneath his white cotton shirt and Charles’ gaze rakes over Erik’s broad shoulders, the way they taper into Erik’s narrow waist. He lingers on Erik’s bare feet; he wonders why he didn’t notice them before.   
  
The door swings open quietly and the night is silent outside. It feels as though both nothing and everything has changed.   
  
“I’ll see you later then,” Charles manages finally, swallows the bitterness back down into his gut. And Charles clears his throat, doesn’t look at Erik as he steps through the front door, out into the chill of the darkness.  
  
He’s barely got his heel on the next step when Erik grabs his wrist, wringing his arm in such a way that Charles spins back quickly, looking Erik in the face.   
  
“What,” Charles manages to breathe out, his pulse hammering underneath Erik’s grip.Erik’s eyes are impossibly pale. For one moment, a terrifying, thrilling moment, Charles thinks that the other man will kiss him.  
  
“Good night, Xavier,” he says, a heartbeat later, his eyes fixed on Charles’ mouth; and Charles doesn’t know what to think of that.  
  
Charles exhales slowly, searches Erik’s expression before he realizes he doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for. Instead, he just shakily replies, “Good night, Mr. Lehnsherr.”  
  
-  
  
The car ride home is quiet.   
  
The sky is dark, and the cars on the freeway speed by fast, their lights bright and sharp.   
  
He arrives home and drives into the garage. Familiar stacks of cardboard boxes rise up to meet his headlights and it feels as the world has come to a standstill. He heads in, locking his car behind him, heats up some leftovers in the microwave, eats it without really tasting.   
  
Charles wakes up the next day to sunlight, his mouth dry. He thinks of Erik and his lavish house, the neat sticky notes taped onto his computers.  
  
Charles pulls out his phone.  
  
Raven picks up her phone on the third ring. “Hello, dearest brother.”  
  
“Raven,” Charles says, hopes that the phone line will hide the tremble in his voice. “Do you think you can come over?”  
  
There’s a moment of silence before she answers, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” Raven says immediately as Charles opens his front door. Her hair is a disheveled mess and she still wears her scrubs.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Charles starts, “Were you still at work? On a Saturday?”  
  
Raven shoulders her way into the house without invitation. “Doesn’t matter. Now tell me what’s going on.”  
  
The clinking of metal spoons against chinaware fills the kitchen as Charles makes Raven a cup of coffee, makes a cup of tea for himself. He’s rummaging around for sugar when Raven says gently, “Charles?”  
  
“It’s my boss,” Charles confesses, two steaming mugs in hand as he comes over to the table where Raven sits.   
  
“Erik Lehnsherr?”  
  
Charles nods and Raven’s eyes narrow dangerously.  
  
“What did he do to you? Did he threaten you?” she starts and Charles splutters.  
  
“What? No, absolutely not, I don’t know why – why would you think that?”  
  
Raven shrugs, then leans back, eyes returning to normal. “You never know.”  
  
“Right,” Charles shifts in his seat, “Well. You remember the first get-together I went to?”  
  
Raven nods slowly. “He drove you home that night.”  
  
“Right,” Charles says again. “Well you see, we, um, that is – ” Charles makes a gesture and Raven gawks, eyes going wide and coffee mug slamming onto the table.   
  
“Charles!” she says, her eyes comically wide. “Jesus Christ – Erik Lehnsherr? I thought it could’ve Helen, or – God, you said you went home with him but I didn’t know you _went_ _home_ with him!”  
  
“No no no,” Charles says immediately backtracking. “No, we didn’t sleep together – ” He frowns. “Helen? What does Helen have to do with anything?”  
  
“I don’t know!” explodes Raven, her eyebrows knotting in disbelief. “Charles, even _Hank_ noticed your hickey, alright? I just assumed it was someone you met or something – I didn’t want to – ”  
  
Charles blanches.   
  
“Okay okay, never mind,” Raven shakes her head, “Go back to the party.”  
  
“He took me home,” Charles says, ever mindful of the flush creeping up his neck, “And well, you see, we didn’t sleep together, per se,” he trails off at Raven’s mixed expression of disgust and awe.   
  
“Go on,” she insists, her eyebrows still knotted.  
  
“But, ah, there was a bit of kissing involved,” Charles looks down at his lap. “It was completely consensual,” he adds hastily, “And there might’ve been some, uh, groping on his part.”  
  
Raven swears loudly, puts her head into her hands. “Why do I get the feeling that this isn’t the end of it.”  
  
Charles tugs at his collar, doesn’t look anywhere near Raven. “I may or may not have gone to his house after work and slept with him yesterday,” he says quickly.   
  
“God, Charles,” Raven hisses, “I knew you liked the intelligent and attractive type, but that doesn’t mean you have to go off and fuck your _boss_! Charles, this could be considered an abuse of authority! And he’s at least _fifteen_ years older than you – ”  
  
“It was just once,” Charles protests indignantly. “And I’m sure that Erik doesn’t want to engage in any sexual activities with me again.”  
  
Raven’s jaw drops.  
  
“Well, not that he didn’t want to the first time,” Charles clarifies quickly, “He did, but the way he sent me off tonight indicated that he didn’t really want to have anything to do with me in the future. I think,” he adds, thinking of the way the man had pulled him back at the last second.  
  
“You call him Erik?” Raven says, disbelievingly.   
  
“I don’t mean to!” Charles defends himself, “I try not to, I mean,” Charles freezes. “Is that – is it a bad thing?”  
  
“I don’t know!” Raven growls, leaning back in her chair before closing her eyes and visibly attempting to calm herself. “Charles, you know as well as I do that X-Trusion has some very strict rules about – ”  
  
“It won’t happen again,” Charles repeats heatedly, doesn’t think of the way Erik had looked at him when Charles had stood in his home, clad in only his underwear.   
  
“I don’t believe that,” Raven says sharply. “Charles, I love you, but I don’t believe that, and I don’t think you do either.”  
  
Charles’ hand curls into a fist on the table.  
  
“You can’t tell anyone,” Raven concludes, a moment later.  
  
“I haven’t told anyone,” Charles replies bitterly.   
  
Raven ignores that. “Not even Hank or Angel.”  
  
Charles bristles. “Why would I tell either of them?”  
  
“Why would you sleep with your boss?” Raven counters angrily and Charles shuts up at that. “Anyway,” she continues, “If you don’t want Lehnsherr or yourself fired, you will not tell _anyone_.”  
  
“Is that big of a deal?” Charles frowns, “There are plenty of people who – ”  
  
Raven says, “Emma Frost,” and Charles falls silent.  
  
“I hadn’t even thought of that,” he admits, quietly. “Fuck.”  
  
“If she so much catches him looking at you in the wrong way,” Raven insists, “You know she’ll tear him apart.”  
  
“I don’t want that,” Charles says.  
  
“Exactly,” Raven says. She sighs.   
  
Silence hangs in the house for a long minute, as Raven wrings his hands in her lap and as Charles drinks his tea.   
  
Raven breaks the silence first. “Honestly, after thinking about it, I’m not that surprised.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Glaring at Charles, Raven says, “From what I hear, he doesn’t talk to anyone really, besides you,” she shrugs.   
  
“But what about Helen, and Moira,” Charles says faintly.   
  
Raven shrugs. “Well, yeah, I guess, but he never goes out of his way to talk to them.”  
  
Charles feels oddly empty.  
  
“We’ll get through this,” Raven sighs, reaches across the table to put a comforting hand on Charles’. “I know we can.”  
  
Charles attempts a smile at this.   
  
Raven leaves a little after that, presses a kiss to his forehead before Charles decides to sleep through the rest of the day.  
  
He’s climbed into bed, the sheets blissfully cool around him, when his thoughts inevitably wander back to Erik.  
  
Before Charles can even register the tendril of arousal that thickens in his belly, his hand wanders down automatically to his cock, clenching the base as Charles’ treacherous mind recalls the image of Erik’s thick cock, splattering all over Charles’ belly –   
  
When Charles finally comes, he ignores the shame laced in his thoughts, turns into his pillow and tries to fall asleep.  
  
-  
  
The sun wakes Charles the next day, hot and bright on his face, slashes through his dreams and brings him to back to the world. Charles grunts in annoyance, tries to bury his face into his pillow when the doorbell rings.   
  
“Go away,” Charles says, muffled. His bed is unbelievably warm and he lies cocooned in the sheets, sleepy and pliant. Barely a heartbeat passes before the doorbell rings again. Charles growls, throwing the sheets back, stomping all the way to the front door.   
  
“I told you,” Charles begins, undoing the door, “If you want to come over, you have to send me a bloody text! You’re on your phone all the time, I don’t understand – oh.” It takes him a moment to realize that it isn’t Raven at the door, but Erik, dressed in a dark button up and slacks. _Fuck my life,_ Charles thinks to himself.   
  
“Sorry,” Charles says finally, remembering to close his mouth. “Why – ” Charles looks down, abruptly realizes that he’s still wearing Erik’s black sweater, the sleeves dangling around his wrists. “Oh. Give me a minute,” Charles says stupidly. He blinks again and widens the door, lets Erik step inside.   
  
“Do you want coffee?” Charles asks, his mind still struggling to comprehend that Erik’s in his house, again.   
  
“Black would be fine,” Erik says absently, already heading towards the kitchen and Charles sighs. “Top shelf, above the sink.”  
  
Charles wanders across the hallway, into his bedroom, shucking off the black sweater and pulling on another worn shirt. He grabs Erik’s pants from where they lie on his bedroom floor, hastily folding the clothes as he heads back into the kitchen.   
  
It feels surreal Erik’s faintly amused expression greets him. “This coffee looks atrocious,” Erik says, looking up when Charles walks in.   
  
Charles drops the clothes on the counter, walking towards Erik to look at the coffee tin over Erik’s shoulder. “I don’t really drink coffee,” Charles admits. “I just keep it around because I always get the same brand for my birthday.”  
  
“Charles,” Erik says and Charles’ chest tightens when Erik uses his first name. He’s close enough to feel the heat radiating from Erik’s body. “There’s a toucan on the front of this.”  
  
Charles can’t stop the snort of laughter that escapes his chest. “I happen to enjoy the tropical forest biome, thank you very much; just because you don’t appreciate the rainforest animals doesn’t mean I can’t.”  
  
Their conversation feels smooth and unhurried, worn and routine. Erik does that thing where his lips quirk into not-quite-a-smile and Charles realizes that it looks so familiar now. For just a minute, Charles forgets that they work together, that Erik’s his boss, that they shouldn’t be doing this; everything else melts away and it’s just them, Charles and Erik and Charles and Erik, two people standing in the warmth of a sunlit kitchen, light spilling in through glass windows, through sheer curtains.  
  
They stand close, shoulders brushing just on this side of casual, and it feels easy – so fucking _natural_ – to lean in, close the minute distance between them and press his lips against Erik.   
  
Erik doesn’t even flinch, just lets Charles mouth against Erik’s lips, slow and unhurried.   
  
Charles feels Erik’s fist against his chest, unfurling like the release of a breath, palm flattening on Charles’ sternum and when Charles runs his tongue against Erik’s mouth, the latter begins to protest. Charles kisses him hard, ignores it; instead, he feels the way Erik’s heart thuds in his ribcage, the way Erik’s left hand curls possessively around Charles’ hip, fingers pressing against Charles’ waist.  
  
“Charles – ” Erik gasps.   
  
“I won’t tell anybody,” Charles manages, “I promise – I don’t – ”  
  
Erik pulls him close, their bodies pressing insistently against each other, and Charles runs his hands up the back of Erik’s neck, brushing over the fine hairs there, before finally burying themselves in Erik’s perfect hair, tousling it out of its pristine form.   
  
When Charles’ fingers tighten in Erik’s hair, a loud moan emanates from Erik; Charles can actually feel his chest rumbling and Charles squeezes his eyes tighter, kisses Erik harder, wishes this would never have to end.   
  
Erik’s hands are large – huge – as they span Charles’ back, running up and down his spine, pulling Charles close so that his back arcs, hipbones nudging against Erik’s belly.  
  
Charles can feel Erik’s erection, insistent against Charles’ thigh and he manages to untangle a hand from Erik’s hair, run his palm down Erik’s perfectly sculpted chest and squeeze Erik’s cock through his pants.   
  
Erik recoils as if he was stung. “Charles,” he hisses.  
  
Charles’ toes curl against the kitchen tiles and he rocks onto the balls of his feet to come closer, close the distance between them.    
  
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Erik growls lowly, as Charles meets his gaze evenly, fingers still working around Erik’s belt.   
  
Their eyes are still locked when Charles begins sliding to his knees, patellas hitting the kitchen floor with a muted thud, undoes Erik’s belt easily, pulls his pants and boxers down slowly.  
  
“Jesus,” Erik breathes, throwing his head back, revealing the tan column of his neck and Charles wants to bite a ring of bruises onto Erik’s collarbone, run his tongue over every inch of that delicious skin. “Charles,” Erik says again, voice laced with something indescribable and Charles squeezes Erik’s waist, thumbs pressing against Erik’s thighs.   
  
Erik’s cock curves up gently, dark and thick, jutting out from a thatch of dark curls around Erik’s groin.   
  
“God,” Charles breathes out, “You’re huge.” And he is, as Charles kneels now, face to face with Erik’s cock.   
  
Erik starts, “You don’t – ” but Charles’ lips are already wrapping around the head of Erik’s cock, and any protest that Erik has dies in his throat.   
  
Erik is hot and salty against Charles’ tongue, as Charles swirls the tip of his tongue over the head of Erik’s erection.   
  
“Tell me,” Charles pants, pulling off for a second to glance up at Erik and Erik makes a pained noise. “Tell me how you like it, I want – ” he breaks off as Erik reaches out and buries his hands in Charles’ hair, at the back of his head, guiding his mouth back onto Erik’s cock and Charles takes it in eagerly, feels the head of Erik’s erection slipping into the pocket of skin at the back of his throat.   
  
“Fuck,” Erik breathes, “ _Fuck_ , Charles, like that – yes, just there – ” and Charles bobs his head, leaning forward slightly to take more of Erik in –   
  
Erik’s breath hitches, his hips jerking just once before freezing, as Charles carefully scrapes his teeth along Erik’s shaft.   
  
Charles looks up.   
  
Erik’s mouth is slightly open, his expression shocked and Charles slackens his jaw in invitation, looks pointedly at Erik.   
  
Erik starts with small thrusts, little movements of his hips, canting his dick into Charles’ throat and the hands in Charles’ hair tighten when Charles hollows his cheeks, leaning up to take even more of Erik’s cock.  
  
With a bawdy pop, Charles pulls off of Erik’s cock, manages to say, “Erik, fuck, fuck my mouth – want you to – ”  
  
And Erik obliges, guiding Charles’ mouth back onto his prick. Charles’ jaw falls slack once more and his right hand leaves Erik’s hip, wanders down so that Charles can paw clumsily at his own erection, which strains against his pants.   
  
Erik thrusts urgently, his eyebrows furrowed and his teeth clenched, hands bracing the back of Charles’ neck and Charles feels absolutely _filthy_ , his knees spread wide around Erik’s feet, one hand desperately grinding down on his own cock. Spit coats Erik’s prick as Erik thrusts relentlessly, the head of his cock catching on something spongy at the back of Charles’ throat; Charles’ eyes begin to tear up.   
  
“Charles,” Erik says, voice hoarse, and Charles chokes when he opens his throat even further, greedily taking in more of Erik. Charles refuses to let up, even as Erik gently tries to tug Charles off and Charles can feel Erik’s dick at the back of his throat, salty and hot, as his nose buries in the dark pubic hair at the base of Erik’s cock, eyes watering.   
  
Erik breaks off, swearing violently in German, and Charles finally rocks back onto his heels, tongue still working around Erik’s dick and Charles clenches Erik’s hip with one hand so tightly, he thinks there’ll be marks there tomorrow.   
  
Releasing Charles’ hair with one hand, Erik reaches down to grab the base of his cock, pumping jerkily as Charles works eagerly with the head of his cock.   
  
“Charles, fuck, I’m – ” and Charles feels Erik’s thighs clenching, his knuckles going impossibly tight in Charles’ hair, still pumping angrily at his cock and Charles surges forward, ignores the protest of his knees, so that when Erik comes, the hot ejaculate releases right into the back of his throat.   
  
There’s a loud thump as Erik slumps back with one hand, reaches out to clench the counter for support, then he says, “Charles, come here, please – ”  
  
His knees groan when Charles stands up and he feels absolutely debauched, his hair rumpled, knees red and mouth sore.   
  
“God, spit it out,” Erik says but Charles swallows, his throat muscles working to push Erik’s come down his esophagus.   
  
Erik rasps, “ _Mein Gott_ ,” and kisses Charles hard, hands gripping the back of Charles’ head.  
  
“Bedroom, I think,” manages Charles, voice rough.  
  
Somehow, they manage to stumble across the hall, into the sun-kissed bedroom, and lust causes Charles to nearly trip over his own feet.   
  
Charles’ lips are slick with spit, but Erik kisses him just as feverishly, making small, needy noises at the back of his throat that cause Charles’ cock to throb with want.   
  
The backs of Erik’s knees hit the mattress and Charles fists his hands in Erik’s dress shirt, pushing them backwards onto the bed with a soft _plop_ and Erik goes willingly, sits back onto the mattress, never stops kissing Charles –   
  
And Charles all but clambers into his lap, hands fumbling at the buttons of Erik’s shirt until Erik finally has mercy on him and undoes the buttons himself, his palms hot against the backs of Charles’ hands and Charles can’t stop touching, runs his hands down Erik’s chiseled chest, reveling in the tight muscle and a nail flicking over a nipple because he’s allowed to touch now – he won’t ever stop –   
  
“Erik,” Charles pants, shucking off his boxers and pulling off his shirt and then he’s very naked, skin flushed and sticky.   
  
Erik pulls him further into his lap, so that Charles’ knees bracket either side of Erik’s waist. The material of Erik’s pants are rough under the smooth skin of Charles’ thighs.  
  
Charles presses his hard cock against Erik’s chest and Erik’s hands are all over his body, fingers tracing a path across Charles’ ribs, down his belly and brushing over Charles’ thighs.  
  
“Erik, please, I – ” Charles chokes out and his hands fist themselves into Erik’s tousled hair.  
  
Then, in a deft movement that causes Charles’ mouth to water, Erik stands abruptly, spins them around and Charles wraps his legs easily around Erik’s waist as Erik puts him down on the mattress, doesn’t stop kissing him all the while.  
  
Desperately rutting against Erik’s abdomen now, Charles whines, breaks the kiss to mouth at Erik’s neck, tongue lavishing a patch of salty skin.  
  
“Charles,” Erik utters, a broken sound, “I can’t – ”  
  
And Charles pulls back slowly, legs unwrapping from Erik’s waist and his cock is still hard against his chest, precome dripping onto his belly.   
  
Erik jerks back skittishly so that he stands at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. He runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this to you – ”  
  
Propping himself up on an elbow, Charles pulls himself upright, into a sitting position, leans back so that his back hits the headboard. Desire has his gut in a vice-like grip.  
  
Erik’s gaze flickers over Charles’ cock and Charles obligingly wraps a hand around himself, collecting a bit of precome before stroking himself easily. “You’re not doing anything to me,” Charles breathes, his want making him bold.  
  
A choked sound makes it way out of Erik’s throat.   
  
“You can watch, can’t you?” pants Charles and his balls are tightening in anticipation; he’s so close, he can feel it –  
  
But then he lets his cock slide out of his hand, reaches over and fumbles with the bedside table before pulling out a bottle of lube, squeezing the cold stuff onto his fingers.   
  
He reaches down slowly, past his perineum and runs just a nail around the edge of his entrance, sucking in a harsh breath simultaneously. Instinctively, Charles’ legs widen, allowing his hand better access in between his thighs and Charles lets out a cry when his index finger slips easily inside of himself.   
  
His face is flushed and his cock still juts out over his stomach but Charles works himself slowly, fingers squelching obscenely and Charles has to resist the urge to close his legs, what with the way Erik looks at him so hungrily.   
  
One finger turns to two turns to three and Charles’ heels are digging into the mattress, his spine arching off the sheets as he struggles to slide his fingers in deeper. “Fuck,” he pants, “Erik – ”  
  
And Charles can’t even look at anything anymore, just rolls his eyes back into his skull, head facing the ceiling as Charles spreads his fingers in a scissoring motion, opens himself up –   
  
Charles’ fingers slip from his entrance, and Charles scrapes a nail across his perineum before fondling his balls for a bit, then brings his hand back to his cock to pump firmly. Charles’ left hand curls into the sheets, nails like claws in the mattress and the whole thing screams voyeurism, which only serves to tighten the knot in Charles’ belly, causes him to bite down on his lips to keep from coming right then and there.  
  
Charles manages to steal a furtive look at Erik.  
  
The man has one knee on the foot of Charles’ bed, leaning forward as if he wants to lunge forward, but his hands are balled into fists at his sides. Charles can’t help it – he asks, “Is it – is it good?” and his voice is embarrassingly high and shaky.  
  
Erik doesn’t seem to notice; if anything, his eyes darken even more as he says, “Slower.”  
  
Charles obliges, even though his body aches in protest, cock drooling precome all over his chest and screaming for release. “Erik,” Charles pants, and his hips buck upwards, hand sliding down to the very base of his cock, “Erik,” Charles moans again and, “Fuck, Erik.”  
  
His hips buck once more and Charles can’t help it when his hand begins to pump faster, of its own accord. Charles can barely hear the guttural sound that Erik lets out over Charles’ own obscene panting, the lecherous sound of skin slapping against skin.   
  
Charles lets out a strangled groan when he comes, and that’s when Erik surges forward, all but crawling over Charles to claim his mouth hungrily.  
  
And Charles melts under Erik’s touch, his roving hands and his zealous mouth, his body humming with pleasure.   
  
Erik kisses him deeply, his pants dragging roughly against Charles’ sensitive thighs, pushing Charles’ head further into the pillow and Charles manages to pull away long enough to murmur sleepily, “I still think it offensive that you don’t appreciate my coffee tin.”  
  
And Erik lets out a choked laugh, his body smothering Charles’, warm and solid. “You’re unbelievable,” Charles thinks Erik says, but he isn’t sure, simply rolls into Erik’s touch, eyes sliding shut.   
  
Time melts into something liquid-like and organic as Charles flits in and out of sleep, caught in between two worlds.   
  
He’s aware of Erik, curled up around his side, their bodies slotting together, entwining like two strands of DNA to form a double helix.  
  
But at the same time, Charles’ mind hangs between sleep and consciousness.   
  
When Charles finally rouses completely, he wakes to an empty bed, an Erik-shaped indentation in the sheets beside him. The sun is still out, flooding the bedroom, and Charles feels a strange sense of déjà vu.   
  
Charles pads out into the kitchen sometime after that, with no intent in his mind other than a vague desire for something to drink, when he sees the pile of clothes still on the counter. A low rumble of bitter mirth bubbles out of Charles’ chest, and he shakes his head at the black sweater, “You’re unbelievable.”  
  
-  
  
Charles feels remarkably detached the next Monday, as he heads into X-Trusion’s crowded lobby, pushes past a chattering throng of men in pinstripe suits, just barely manages to make it into the elevator.  
  
“Xavier, biomed for you?” someone calls out and Charles doesn’t have enough room to turn around and pin the voice to a name.   
  
“Yes, thank you,” comes out of his mouth. It feels as though he’s walking around like a marionette, and he worries that his puppeteer will tangle his strings.   
  
The elevator dings and Charles follows two women in pencil skirts down the hallway leading to the biomedical department, nods to Devina who’s heading towards the printing room.   
  
As he rounds the corner, he sees Erik a little ways ahead, strolling towards Charles.   
  
“Xavier,” Erik greets indifferently, not meeting Charles’ eyes and Charles’ breath hitches – just slightly – when he responds in his own detached voice, “Good morning, Mr. Lehnsherr.”  
  
And that’s it.  
  
Erik keeps walking, turning around the corner, and Charles tightens his grip on his briefcase, mentally tells himself to get it together.   
  
_Professional_ , Charles says to himself, _keep it professional._ _  
_ _  
_“It’s lunchtime, and you’ve finished absolutely nothing today,” Angel remarks, when she pops her head in to check on Charles a while later. “You’re distracted by something, I can tell.”  
  
“Is that so?” Charles murmurs, rolling a heavy ballpoint pen between his fingers. He taps the end of the pen onto a thick stack of papers.  
  
“Maybe you could go to the gym,” Angel frowns, “Get your focus back. If Lehnsherr comes in and sees you doing nothing, he’ll flip his shit.”  
  
“Oh, I know,” Charles says. He taps his pen twice more, then rises. “I believe you’re right, Angel. I’m off to the elliptical.”  
  
She warns, “Don’t come back until you’re ready to work.”  
  
Flashing her a charming smile, Charles leaves the office eagerly, his thoughts settling like black sediment at the bottom of a cesspool.   
  
As he strides toward the gyms, for some reason Charles thinks of the thick vines growing in front of his neighbor’s yard, leafy tendrils desperately crawling up the garden wall in an attempt to get to the sun, only to be trimmed every single time.   
  
Angel is right. The physical exertion clears Charles’ mind, loosens the tight line of his shoulders as sweat begins to drip down his spine, nothing filling his head save for the thump thump thump of his heart working in his chest.   
  
He’s in the empty locker room, hair still damp from the showers and changing out of his gym clothes when the heavy door swings open with a quiet swish.   
  
Of course, _of course,_ Erik walks in, the harsh overhead lights cutting sharp shadows across his cheekbones, towel folded neatly in one hand and a fat drawstring bag in the other. Charles’ gut constricts and he feels his lips tighten, marionette strings entangling into an irrevocable knot.  
  
The locker room door swings shut behind him.   
  
Erik’s eyes darken, almost imperceptibly, as the man glances over Charles’ bare chest, skin still moist from the shower. And then he turns away without a word, disappearing around the corner.    
  
“Is that it then?” Charles asks, against his better judgement. He swings his locker open.   
  
Erik’s voice carries through the room, reverberating off the walls. “Is that what?”  
  
Charles doesn’t mean to slam his locker close, but he does, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the locker room. “You kick me out of your house,” Charles says, walking up the aisle, turning around the corner. “You come over to mine the next day, and then leave without saying anything.”  
  
Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Erik looks up to see Charles leaning against the locker at the very end of the row. “We’re not talking about this here,” Erik says flatly, looking away to undo his lock.   
  
“Then where?” Charles feels the beginnings of irritation swelling in his chest. “Obviously you weren’t going to say anything; what am I supposed to do?”  
  
“I said, not here, Charles,” Erik says lowly. His lock falls open with a click.   
  
Charles lets out a scoff. “Erik, are you joking? You’re just going to avoid me, is that what it is? Is it easier to fuck your employees if – ”  
  
Erik slams his locker shut. His hand contorts into a fist against the metal latch. He turns slowly to Charles, his face twisted. “Do you really think I’d – ”  
  
“No,” Charles realizes his mistake and immediately steps back. “No, God, Erik, I just – ”  
  
Erik says something darkly in German, turns away. “If you think that’s what this is – ”  
  
“No,” Charles repeats, firmly, “I didn’t meant that – _Jesus_ , I just – ” Charles trails off helplessly, runs his hands through his hair, squeezing until he feels his knuckles pulling on hair, hair tugging on roots, roots tugging on skin, feels the tightening of his scalp; he doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to talk about this, but, “We need to talk about this, you can’t just – ” Charles gestures, throat going dry.   
  
“I said,” Erik hisses, planting his forearms on the closed locker in front of him, shoulders hunching inwards. Charles walks closer. “I said, not here.”  
  
“Fine,” Charles breathes, and he can see the way Erik’s face creases, ten years’ worth of work written into the lines around his mouth, crow’s feet tapering around his eyelashes. “Fine.” Charles tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants to keep himself from reaching out, smoothing the wrinkles between Erik’s eyebrows. He squeezes his hands, digs his nails into his palm.  
  
“If you don’t want me,” Charles begins, breaks off when Erik lets out a rough noise of disbelief. The man straightens up, dress shirt stretching over his shoulders and chest, arms dropping back down to his sides.   
  
“Do you really think that’s how it is?” Erik rasps, gaze cast upwards, the light of the locker room glinting off his eyes.   
  
“I won’t tell anyone,” Charles leans back against the locker, metal cool against his shoulder blades and spine. He looks straight ahead but sees Erik’s mouth purse out of the corner of his eye. “You know I wouldn’t act any differently – God, Erik, I just – ” and he can’t describe the way his heart leaps into his throat every time Erik steps into his office, the way his palms begin to sweat whenever Erik drives him to board meetings, the way his throat dries when Erik steps close to him. “I want you,” Charles breathes, eyes fixed on the tile wall in front of him. “Christ, I just want you so bad, and I – ”  
  
“Don’t,” Erik interrupts, “You can’t say things like that to me, Charles.”  
  
Charles exhales shakily, “You want me to lie?” A thump fills the empty aisle when Charles lets his head fall onto the locker behind him. “You want me to hide?”  
  
“You don’t know anything about this company,” Erik hisses, and Charles can hear the venom behind his words.  
  
“Erik, do you not trust me?” Charles tightens his fists, struggles to keep his voice calm, “You know I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“You don’t know the people who work here,” Erik rasps, “They’d do anything, they – ”  
  
“And you don’t know me,” Charles’ eyes flash. He pushes himself off the locker, whirls around. “I wouldn’t change a thing; we’ve both got something to lose, I don’t understand why we can’t have – ”  
  
Charles snaps his mouth shut at the sound of the locker room opening.   
  
“Janos,” Erik straightens and his expression morphs into one of indifference, as if he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes arguing with Charles. Charles’ heart reels abruptly; he imagines how they must look to Quested – Charles, shirtless, standing close to Erik, and Erik’s eyes dark –  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” the man with the long hair says, stepping toward the showers.   
  
“I’ll bring the papers to you before the end of the day, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles all but snaps out, striding around the corner and grabbing his clothes, yanking his work attire on, doesn’t look back, misses the way that Erik’s expression crumples when he leaves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also! For anyone who is interested, I'm also working on a Harry Potter AU for Charles/Erik, so if you're into that, check it out :)


	3. three

In a second paper, Watson and Crick stated their hypothesis for how DNA replicates: “Now our model for deoxyribonucleic acid is, in effect, a pair of templates, each of which is complementary to the other. We imagine that prior to duplication the hydrogen bonds are broken, and the two chains unwind and separate. Each chain then acts as a template for the formation onto itself of a new companion chain, so that eventually we shall have two pairs of chains, where we only had one before. Moreover, the sequence of the pairs of bases will have been duplicated exactly.”  
  
\- F. H. C. Crick and J. D. Watson, “The Complementary Structure of Deoxyribonucleic Acid.” _Proc. Roy. Soc._ (A) 223 (1954): 80

  
  
Three    
  
For the rest of the day, the knot of anticipation still clenches Charles’ gut, even as Devina calls out, “Xavier, I’m leaving! You’re the last one, so lock the doors behind you.”   
  
“See you tomorrow,” Charles replies, voice carrying out through his office and down the hallway.   
  
His fingers fly over his keyboard with satisfying clicks when he hears the ding of the elevator. Charles stops for a moment. The only person who stays this late is either Charles, Devina, or, “Mr. Lehnsherr?” Charles calls out.   
  
He hears the elevator slide shut. “What do you want, Xavier,” the man says, resignedly. There’s a click as Erik unlocks his office.   
  
Charles scoops up his papers, pacing out of the office with no other intentions than to have his papers approved.   
  
“Well,” he says, striding down the hallway and following Erik into his office. “I wanted you to look over this report for me – I’m writing it as a favor to Helen, but I’m not sure if the language is quite appropriate – ” Charles halts as soon as he enters the office.   
  
Erik stands by his desk, running a hand through his damp hair.   
  
The material of Erik’s thin cotton shirt sticks to his chest, hugging his ribs and stomach, and Charles thinks he can see droplets of water pooling at Erik’s jugular notch, practically beckoning Charles in invitation –   
  
“Xavier?” Erik prompts, as he slides into his chair, behind his desk.   
  
Charles says, “Right.” He leans back for a minute, closes Erik’s door behind him, hears it lock with a satisfying click. Erik’s eyes dart up, but he says nothing.   
  
Charles walks closer, puts the paper on Erik’s desk, right in front of him, and at this distance, Charles can see where the hairs at the back of Erik’s neck curl into dark ringlets, like fronds at the bottom of a teacup.   
  
Erik’s reading the paper, his eyes skimming the words a mile per minute, when Charles takes another tentative step forward. Now, he stands right to the side of Erik’s chair; he could shift his arm and accidentally brush against Erik’s shoulder without even stretching. Erik’s temple twitches as he clenches down on his jaw, knuckles tightening around the paper.   
  
There’s a decent breadth separating their bodies; they’re not close to touching, but Charles can still feel something sharp and palpable in the air. It excites him; his blood simmers under his skin and Charles feels his pulse quicken in his veins.   
  
Charles leans over Erik’s shoulder, close but not touching, carefully reading along with the man next to him, and Erik automatically leans back, allowing Charles a better view of the page but then brushing Charles’ arm as he does.   
  
The change is immediate.   
  
The air in the room tenses like how the sky tenses before rain; there’s a long moment – a long pause – where neither of them moves. Charles clenches his jaw to keep from speaking. Heat rushes in his veins, in his chest, in his head.   
  
And then Erik tilts his head, looks up at Charles for a moment and his eyes are dark, focused with razor-sharp intensity. Erik opens his mouth, says something, but Charles doesn’t hear him over the rush of blood in his ears.   
  
“I won’t tell anyone,” Charles breathes out, the words so faint, he’s not sure Erik hears it.   
  
But then Erik’s gaze turns rough, raw around the edges and Charles murmurs, “You know I wouldn’t.”   
  
Erik looks down, away from Charles, presses the back of his hand against his lips as if to refrain from saying something and Charles mindlessly says, “You don’t have to deny yourself of everything you want.”   
  
At that, Erik makes a small, choked noise, and Charles waits for a moment, the tension in the room thick and heady. Charles waits, his head feels as though it’s spinning, watching Erik’s eyes flutter shut.   
  
And slowly, very very slowly, Charles scoots to the right, picking up one foot and placing it into the space between Erik’s desk and the chair.   
  
Erik doesn’t say a word, doesn’t protest as Charles awkwardly manages to fit himself onto the chair, in front of Erik, his ass pressing against Erik’s thighs and for a minute, Charles thinks to himself, _well, you’ve fucked up rather spectacularly now_ , when suddenly, Erik shifts back, one arm reaching out to press against Charles’ sternum, pushing back and “Oh,” Charles says, the word falling from his lips softly as Erik gently tugs him, arranges them so that Charles’ back is flush against Erik.   
  
“Charles,” Erik murmurs, right into Charles’ ear and his breath is hot against Charles’ skin.   
  
Charles lets out a low whimper as Erik runs his hand down Charles’ chest, flitting over the buttons of his dress shirt before coming down to Charles’ crotch. “Do you want me,” Charles has to ask, fights down the desire in his chest to let the words come out.   
  
And Erik clamps one hand down onto Charles’ cock in reply, the other pressed firmly against Charles’ chest so that Charles can feel the outline of Erik’s cock against his ass, already half-hard.   
  
“Please,” Charles whines, and he means to say Erik, really, he does, but his disloyal mouth blurts out, “Oh my God, Mr. Lehnsherr – ”   
  
And Erik’s hips buck, his cock pressed right against the crevice of Charles’ ass and Charles fights down a moan.   
  
“You’ll have to be quiet now,” Erik murmurs lowly, his hand massaging at Charles’ prick. “Can you do that for me, Charles?”   
  
Erik shifts slightly, his dress shoes coming in between Charles’, his knees nudging between Charles’ legs and Charles opens obligingly, lets the outside of Erik’s leg press out against Charles’ inner thighs, spreading Charles’ legs wantonly.   
  
Charles lets out a sharp sound; Erik’s hand shoots up to clamp down on Charles’ mouth. “Hush,” Erik says, his lips brushing enticingly against Charles’ neck, and now Charles’ cock is straining against his pants as Erik undoes his belt slowly. Charles feels his hips twitching, desperately rutting back against Erik’s erection, hot even through the material of his pants.   
  
Charles’ hands clutch the arms of the chair, fingers tightening like vices when Erik reaches up to flick open Charles’ shirt, fingers pinching at a nipple and Charles almost cries, his back automatically arching up into Erik’s touch. The hand on Charles’ mouth tightens and Charles pants desperately, Erik’s sharp cologne flooding his nose –   
  
“Easy,” Erik murmurs, and when he shifts, the entirety of his erection aligns with the cleft of Charles’ ass.   
  
The hand clamping over Charles’ mouth loosens slightly, fingers pressing in question at Charles’ lips. Charles’ jaw slackens in answers, and Erik dips his slender fingers into Charles’ mouth, callused and rough.   
  
At the same time, Erik works open Charles’ zipper, undoes his belt, and pulls Charles’ cock out.   
  
Charles feels utterly depraved when Erik, with his fingers coated in Charles’ saliva, runs one hand down to Charles’ ass, slipping one wet finger easily into Charles’. At the same time, Erik teases Charles’ left nipple with a nail.   
  
“Erik,” whimpers Charles, in a strangled voice. He reaches down with one hand to wrap a hand around his erection but Erik nudges it away.   
  
“I believe that’s Mr. Lehnsherr, to you,” Erik says, voice – dare Charles think it – _teasing_ and Charles grinds down on Erik’s cock harder, stutters as Erik slips another digit inside Charles and his fingers are so slender, delicate and warm.   
  
“Er – Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles gasps and his eyes water when Erik crooks his fingers just so, catching on a sensitive gland and Charles cries out, “Oh _fuck_ , please – “   
  
Erik breathes in his ear, lips pressing against Charles’ neck and his hand is hot as ever when it wraps around Charles’ cock. Charles nearly comes right then and there, his mouth falling open, panting wantonly.   
  
Leaning in to press his mouth against Charles’ neck, Erik’s breath billows on Charles’ cheek, his hand pumping furiously around Charles’ cock, one hand still twisting at Charles’ sensitive nipple.   
  
And Charles comes in a manner of seconds, crying out Erik’s name, head thrown back on Erik’s shoulder.   
  
Erik strokes him through the last throes of his orgasm and Charles collapses back against Erik, his back curving into Erik’s chest, hands trembling faintly on Erik’s thighs.   
  
Erik’s hands are still moving. His fingers brush Charles’ balls and Charles’ thighs twitch in response; Erik’s other palm presses against Charles’ bare chest, thumb running over Charles’ nipple, fingers splayed across Charles’ ribcage.   
  
Their slacks scratch against each other as Erik sits up suddenly, pushing Charles with him and Charles’ knees are still weak, the room spinning around him as Erik pins him onto the desk, turns him around so that his lips press hot against Charles’.   
  
A small noise of pleasure catches in Charles’ throat; he leans back, scooting onto the desk to allow Erik to step in between his legs, one hand still stroking at Charles’ sensitive scrotum. Erik gasps when Charles pulls away to plant his mouth on Erik’s neck, teething at skin right above Erik’s jugular notch, underneath his Adam’s apple. One of Erik’s arms wraps around Charles’ back, pulls him snug so that Charles’ thighs form parentheses around Erik’s waist.   
  
The buttons of Erik’s waistcoat press into Charles’ stomach, his cold belt buckle into Charles’ belly and Charles can’t stop running his hands through Erik’s hair.   
  
“Charles,” Erik starts. Charles finally pulls his lips off of Erik’s skin, tucks his nose into the dip of Erik’s clavicle, where the sharp scent of his cologne pools. Charles breathes in desperately, mouth brushing against Erik’s collarbone. Erik breaks off when Charles reaches down with one hand, palms at where Erik’s erection still strains against his zipper.   
  
“The building, the systems – we have to – ” Gently, Erik pushes Charles’ hand away. “We have to go,” he repeats, and Charles squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in deeply.   
  
“Yeah,” he says.   
  
Erik brushes against Charles’ scrotum as he tucks Charles back into his pants. “Will you,” Erik says, then stops. Charles scoots back just a hair to do up his zipper, buckle his belt. He looks up when he’s finished, Erik’s eyes dark with want. And Charles should stop here. Charles should let the man leave.   
  
But Charles wants; his blood runs quick in his veins and he feels _unstoppable_ .   
  
So he asks, “Will I come home with you?” raising an eyebrow and Erik’s eyebrows furrow, a muscle in his cheek flexing.   
  
“You don’t have to,” he begins but Charles kisses him in the middle of his sentence, soft and slow, two fingers pressed to the side of Erik’s neck.     
  
Erik makes a soft noise when he finally pulls away from the kiss, presses a pair of cold keys into Charles’ palm.   
  
“But – ” Charles begins, still eyeing Erik’s crotch.   
  
“Go wait for me,” Erik sighs, nudges Charles towards the door. “Go.”   
  
Charles hesitates for a moment, watches the way Erik’s hands unfurl from fists, then goes; he takes the elevator down to the lobby, the chill outside stinging his still-sensitive skin, finds the spot labeled ‘Biomedical Department Head’ in the parking lot and clambers into Erik’s Bentley.   
  
Charles fiddles around with the Bentley for a bit before shooting Raven a text, then scrolls the news while he waits for Erik.   
  
A few minutes later, Erik pulls the driver’s door open, discreetly adjusting his pants before he gets into the car.   
  
“Okay?” Erik says, glancing at Charles and Charles hums.   
  
The silence settles into the Bentley comfortably, and Charles shrugs off his suit jacket, spreads it across his lap as Erik pulls out of the parking lot.   
  
When they make it to the freeway, Charles leans his forehead against the window, the glass cool against his skin and lets his eyes flutter shut. Erik is quiet.   
  
Charles thinks of their conversation in the locker room, the way Janos Quested had walked in. _If he had gone in any sooner_ , Charles thinks, and shivers at the thought.   
  
“You know,” Charles says, his voice decidedly not trembling, “They say they’ve found a way to eliminate herpes.”   
  
Erik glances at him.   
  
“No, seriously, you mustn’t knock it,” Charles insists, thoughts quickly propelling away from Quested and the gym, the sound of a locker slamming shut. “They say that, by using special RNA, they’re able to target the Epstein-Barr virus’ DNA sequences.”   
  
“Clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats,” Erik says and Charles blinks rapidly.   
  
“Right,” he says, “CRISPR. Short, repetitive sequences of defensive DNA found in bacteria.”   
  
Erik makes an impatient noise. “I don’t live under a rock, Charles.”   
  
“Well, forgive me, Erik,” Charles emphasizes his name, relishes the way it feels on his tongue. The Bentley hums mellifluously underneath them and Charles feels like Atlas, feels as though he could lift the world onto his shoulders. “You didn’t seem too eager to talk about genetic engineering with me before.”   
  
“Not this again, Charles.”   
  
Charles huffs, straightens up, and says, “Think about it. Discoveries like this are being made every other week, Erik. Using Cas9, researching epigenetic changes, eradicating genetic diseases. The possibilities are endless.”   
  
“You live in the future, don’t you,” Erik notes.   
  
“And you, in the past, my friend,” Charles snipes back. “Innovation is destructive, Erik, there’s no way we can move forward without destroying the old.”   
  
Erik raises an eyebrow and the previous tension in the car dissipates easily, as they fall into this familiar banter, “I think the department’s doing fine, now,” Erik says. He glances into the rearview mirror before switching lanes.     
  
“Just fine,” Charles repeats, “Not making leaps and bounds. He says, “I’m still writing a proposal about it for you.”   
  
Erik hums in acknowledgment.   
  
The engine purrs as Erik drives, and Charles feels more at ease in Silicon Valley now than he ever has before. The night is clear and Charles traces constellations onto the passenger window, his breath condensing against the glass. He lets the silence brew for a moment, before pulling out his phone.   
  
“Ten genetic discoveries that changed the world,” Charles reads aloud.   
  
“Fantastic,” mumbles Erik and Charles grins.   
  
By the time the engine rumbles to a halt, Charles is reading an article about nucleic acid probe hybridization. “Oh. We’re here.”   
  
Erik lets out a long breath and Charles hesitates for a moment, as the light in the car turns off without a sound. Charles realizes abruptly how much Erik is risking at this very moment, letting Charles into his life like this, in this way – “Do you,” Charles starts. _Do you still want me, do you realize what you’re doing, do you know how much I want you –_ he wants to ask.   
  
“Come on,” Erik says softly, gets out of the car.   
  
Charles trails after him, hands in his pockets, breathing in the cold air. Stars spill across the sky above him, strewn like grains of salt across black dirt.   
  
Erik’s house is as impeccable as Charles remembers, every piece of furniture perfectly clean, the floors polished and windows reflecting moonlight.   
  
“Do you,” Erik begins hesitantly, and he looks as unsure as Charles feels, not knowing where their new orbits lie, how close they’ll come before the other pulls away. “Do you want something? To eat, or drink.”   
  
“I’m fine,” Charles murmurs, runs his hand over the back of a leather couch before wandering into up the stairs. Erik is the one who trails behind now, his steps sure and solid on the carpeted steps.   
  
The plush carpet gives easily under Charles’ dress shoes, and he runs his hands over the stair railing, the decorative vase perching in an alcove, the smooth, off-white walls.   
  
Eventually, Charles wanders past a series of mostly empty rooms, finds something that has to be Erik’s bedroom. “May I?” he turns around to cock his head at Erik, who’s remained silent the entirety of Charles’ self-guided tour through his house.   
  
Erik’s eyes are half-lidded when he nods, watches as Charles steps into his bedroom.   
  
The entire set-up screams Erik Lehnsherr, if Charles is being honest. The bed covers are black, gray sheets perfectly made, pulled up to two plush pillows. The walls are plain, unadorned, and there’re twin lights behind the headboard.   
  
Charles is stripping out of his suit jacket before he can even think about it, simultaneously toeing off his shoes and socks. He situates himself on the soft mattress, turns around to see Erik still in the doorway, watching Charles curiously.   
  
“Care to join me?” Charles asks casually, throwing his suit jacket onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed.   
  
With this invitation, Erik pushes himself easily off the doorframe, the lines of his legs loping easily as he crosses the bedroom in less than four strides.   
  
Charles eyes Erik speculatively as the latter comes to a halt at the foot of the bed, his expression unreadable. Charles finishes undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, watching Erik all the while. Tossing the shirt to the side, Charles leans back on the bed, starts working on the buckle of his belt when he thinks of just the previous Sunday, when their situation had been so similar to this.   
  
“I’m beginning to think that you’ve got a voyeurism kink,” Charles props an elbow on one of the pillows. “What kind of invitation do you want, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles breathes out, and he feels a thrill run down his spine when Erik’s eyes flash dangerously as Charles spreads his legs in provocation, yanks his belt out and tosses it onto the floor.   
  
“Jesus, Charles,” Erik hisses, shucks his suit jacket and finally, _finally_ , clambers onto the bed, crawling over Charles.   
  
A satisfied sigh falls from Charles’ lips as Erik brackets Charles’ thighs with his knees, on all fours above Charles. Erik’s face hovers mere inches from Charles’, his breath warm, smelling faintly of mint.   
  
For all of their proximity, Erik doesn’t touch, his knees digging into the mattress mere millimeters away from Charles’ thighs, his forearms planted on either side of Charles’ head. “Can you kiss me?” Charles asks breathlessly, his eyes raking over the beautiful structure of Erik’s cheeks, the curve of his lips and the dark color of his lashes.   
  
And Charles fully expects Erik to kiss him with the intense ferocity of their previous exchanges, perhaps dig his hands into Charles’ hair –   
  
But instead, Erik hesitates, his lashes fluttering and Charles can see every fleck in his eyes.   
  
And then, finally, Erik lowers his head, one hand coming up to cup Charles’ cheek and Charles lies there, waits, as Erik dips down to kiss him so so chastely, softly, with no tongue and when Erik pulls back Charles thinks he can feel Erik’s fingers trembling faintly.   
  
And Charles kisses him again, just a simple press of his mouth against Erik’s, revels in the softness of Erik’s lips.   
  
“Charles,” Erik rasps, and his voice sounds hoarse.   
  
Charles curves his spine up to press their bodies together, sighs contentedly when Erik leans down to press their mouths together again and Charles reaches up to touch Erik’s face, runs his fingers over the faint crow’s feet, skimming his thumb over Erik’s plump bottom lip.   
  
Erik leans in, his entire body draped over Charles, kisses him deeper and Charles’ eyes flutter shut, imagines their bodies molding into each other, sinking into the mattress in a wonderful mixture of heat and lust.   
  
As Erik slips his tongue in Charles’ mouth, Charles lets out a loud moan, bucking his hips up, thrusting his half-hard erection against Erik’s hip. Charles runs his fingers over Erik’s face, as if he can memorize the structure of Erik’s face like he’s reading Braille.   
  
Charles lets his hands stroke down Erik’s back, revels in the muscles rippling underneath Erik’s shirt. “Off,” Charles manages and Erik fumbles with the buttons. Charles yanks at his shirt, running his hands over Erik’s tan chest. Charles bucks his hips again, whines when Erik mouths at Charles’ sternum, runs his hands down Charles’ chest and grips tight onto Charles’ hips.   
  
“Easy now,” Erik murmurs and Charles whimpers, feels a bit like an overeager schoolboy, bucking against Erik’s hot thigh.   
  
Erik swirls his tongue expertly over Charles’ chest, mouth trailing down to latch onto Charles’ nipple and Charles gasps, fingers clawing at Erik’s shoulders. “ _Oh,_ Erik, I – ”   
  
Charles’ eyes water when he feels the flash of teeth against his skin; he writhes under Erik’s ministrations, under his hands that pin him down against the mattress. His prick strains at his zipper, fully erect and Charles manages to say, “Erik, please, I need to – ”   
  
“You’re used to getting what you want, Charles,” Erik murmurs, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Charles’ nipple, tongue flicking out and Charles digs his heels into the mattress, gasps when the material of Erik’s shirt skims his skin. “No one can deny you, can they?” Erik hums, and Charles feels the vibrations against his ribcage. “You blink your lashes, say something scientific and they’ll give you whatever you want.”   
  
Charles whines when Erik drags his mouth lower, tongue running down Charles’ belly, past his belt line, to mouth lightly at the bulge in Charles’ pants. Instinctively, Charles’ hips twitch but Erik’s hands are pinning him down; he can barely move.   
  
“You’re used to it,” Erik says lowly, pulls off and looks at the damp spot on Charles’ trousers. Charles pants, squeezes his eyes shut.   
  
Erik presses the flat of his tongue against Charles’ clothed cock, and Charles bites down on his tongue as Erik uses one hand to pop the button of Charles’ pants, dragging the zipper down slowly to reveal the stain in Charles’ boxers, a mixture of precome and saliva.   
  
Leaning in, Erik presses his mouth against the skin right above the waistline of Charles’ underwear, drags his teeth there for a bit and the desire tightens in Charles’ belly, thrums through every single artery, every capillary in his body.   
  
Erik pulls down Charles’ pants with one finger, the knuckle curled around both underwear and pants, dragging down teasingly slow.   
  
“Christ, Erik, please, God I need you,” pants Charles but Erik ignores him, watches the way Charles’ cock curves over his belly, dribbles onto his chest and Erik tugs Charles’ pants and underwear off all the way. Charles kicks them onto the floor and Erik plants his palms onto Charles’ hips once more, nudges his face in between Charles’ thighs and Charles’ legs clench in anticipation.   
  
Erik plants a trail of kisses up Charles’ inner thigh, wet and lascivious, and Charles feels his cock aching.   
  
“I said it before,” Erik rumbles and he looks up. Charles’ throat clogs with some indescribable emotion. “You’re not used to not getting what you want, Charles.”   
  
“And are you?” Charles gasps, as Erik traces three fingers up and down Charles’ thigh.   
  
Erik doesn’t answer, simply pushes Charles’ thighs open further and Erik looks at him, in between his legs, with that same razor-sharp intensity; Charles feels the beginnings of a blush.   
  
Erik clasps Charles’ hips tighter, wrists pressing against the tops of Charles’ thighs and Charles gasps when Erik mouths at one of his balls, nose brushing against the crease of Charles’ thigh and Charles swears violently when Erik’s tongue slides out, hot saliva on Charles’ skin.   
  
Charles’ fingers grasp the sheets underneath his palms and his entire body is one entire plea, thighs quaking, mouth fallen open, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.   
  
However, instead of moving upwards to Charles’ throbbing cock, Erik presses his mouth against Charles’ balls one last time before scooting backwards, allowing him access to Charles’ ass.   
  
“Erik,” Charles breathes out, and the man brushes his lips against the edge of Charles’ hole, tongue flicking at the tight ring of muscle there and Charles sinks back into the mattress, spine melting into the sheets as the tip of Erik’s tongue slips inside.   
  
Erik eats him out him until Charles is all but crying on the sheets, nipples bruised, cock red and angry, fingers twisted into the pillow, bite marks on his lips from where Charles had clamped down on his own mouth.   
  
“Erik,” Charles cries out, “Please, oh my God – ” and Erik’s tongue lavishes Charles, trailing over his scrotum, over his perineum, his thighs, and his entrance – everywhere but his cock –   
  
“Top drawer on your right,” Charles hears and he lets out a groan, rolling over to fumble for the lube and condoms, practically throwing them at Erik.   
  
The man chuckles and Charles crawls up the bed, leans against the pillows to watch Erik, composed as ever, undo his belt painfully slow, drag his pants off and Charles’ eyes go straight to his cock.   
  
Erik leans in to kiss him, his lips hot and wet, his hand trailing down to slip two lube-coated fingers into Charles’ slick entrance.   
  
Erik’s fingers slide in easily and Charles’ breath hitches when Erik crooks his fingers, barely brushing against his prostate and entangles his hands into Erik’s hair, brushes his lips against Erik’s cheek.   
  
Erik works Charles open easily, his fingers spreading Charles open and Charles thinks can feel every callus on every finger.   
  
“You open up so easily for me, Charles,” Erik says and Charles fights back a whimper when Erik removes his fingers. Charles tries kissing him again, but misses, his mouth landing on the corner of Erik’s lips in a sloppy gesture.   
  
Charles whimpers, hears Erik ripping the condom and the head of Erik’s cock is hard against Charles’ entrance – “Fuck,” Charles says, chest heaving, and Erik murmurs into Charles’ ear, “You can touch yourself now.” Charles groans when he finally reaches down with one hand to tug at his neglected cock.   
  
“Alright?” Erik breathes, and Charles nods quickly, spreads his legs impossibly tighter and the head of Erik’s cock slips in easily, dipping right below that ring of muscle and Charles groans once more. “I’ve thought about this,” Charles pants, “So many times – God, _fuck_ , Erik – ”   
  
And Erik’s hips cant forward slightly, shallow thrusts that leave Charles breathy.   
  
Charles’ hips jerk upwards and Erik’s cock slips inside, his entire shaft sliding into deep in and Charles’ jaw slackens noiselessly, Erik’s large cock filling every crevice inside of Charles.   
  
“Fuck,” Charles gasps, and Erik moves slowly, hips swiveling in a dangerous serenade, tongue rasping against Charles’ neck and he murmurs, “Charles,” and Charles thrusts up again, desperate for a little friction.   
  
“Erik, please,” says Charles and Charles wants him so badly, even this close, it isn’t enough, Charles is afraid that it won’t ever be enough –   
  
And Erik snaps his hips cleanly, finally, _finally_ and Charles moans, heels digging into the mattress as Erik thrusts evenly, smooth, clean, deep movements that have Charles hissing in pleasure, as Erik’s cock slams against his prostrate; “ _Erik_ ,” Charles shouts, and Erik’s cock drives in, Charles’ hips and ass burying themselves in the mattress as Erik thrusts expertly, his hips digging into the mattress and Charles runs his hands down Erik’s back, down the swell of his arse; he feels Erik’s cheeks clenching as he thrusts deep, quite literally fucking Charles into the mattress –   
  
Charles reaches down to tug at his cock, pumping furiously as Erik slams in and out of Charles and Charles can’t think of anything else – his entire body burning, his skin on fire –   
  
Charles’ orgasm hits him with a surprise, his mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ as his entire body tenses like a fist, then releases, like fingers shuddering open, as he comes so hard that he almost blacks out.   
  
And Erik, God, Erik keeps thrusting, keeps fucking Charles throughout his orgasm, his face pinched, muscles in his arms flexing wonderfully and Charles’ mouth waters at the sight of it, sweat glistening on Erik’s forehead, abdomen rippling and Charles huffs, his body sliding up and down the sheets with every one of Erik’s thrusts –   
  
“God,” Erik hisses, and Charles whimpers when his hips snap particularly hard; Charles clenches down onto the sheets to keep from moving, “Charles, God, you have no idea – ”   
  
“Tell me,” Charles grunts, and Erik growls, says lowly, “Everyday – you walk into my office, so fucking earnest – I want – ” he breaks off and Charles threads his fingers into Erik’s hair, damp with sweat, “You won’t shut up,” Erik pants and Charles chokes down laughter at that. “You’re so – ” Erik begins then clamps down onto his lips, his countenance twisting as he rams into Charles, comes with a soft gasp.   
  
“I’m so what,” Charles manages, struggles to form the words. The smell of sex seeps through the room and Charles groans when Erik’s cock slips out, as he reaches down to tug off the condom and throw it away.   
  
Leaning down, Erik mouths against Charles’ neck, behind his ear, lips pressing at the damp curls there and Charles ignores the wet slick of come on his stomach, rolls them both over so they collapse into the mattress.   
  
“Young,” utters Erik and Charles can’t help but shiver at that. Erik snakes an arm around Charles easily, pulls him close and Charles shifts, as Erik spoons him, at a loss for words. Charles leans back into Erik’s chest, feels Erik’s mouth at the back of his neck, his body a furnace next to Charles.   
  
Charles’ eyes slide shut of their own accord; the last thing he feels is Erik’s lips on his skin before he falls under, gives in and finally sleeps.   
  
He wakes up sometime later, in the middle of the night.   
  
Charles blinks sluggishly, and for a second, wonders where he is and what kind of mattress this is, because it’s the best sleep that Charles has had in a long time.   
  
“Erik?” he says, softly, into the dark room, the bed cold around him.   
  
The lights are off, but moonlight leaks in through the shutters, allows Charles to see the scattering of clothes on the floor, the sheets pooling around Charles’ waist. He sits up.   
  
“Did I wake you?” Erik’s rumble surprises him, and Charles glances to his left to see Erik padding out of the joint bathroom.   
  
“No,” Charles says, then frowns. “I don’t know why I woke.”   
  
Erik remains silent as he crosses the room and Charles’ breath catches in his throat when he sees the moonlight painting Erik’s naked body, falling gently over his shoulders and chest, illuminating the way he looks at Charles.   
  
The mattress dips when Erik climbs in and Charles feels oddly at ease when Erik slip in between the sheets, eyes fluttering shut.   
  
Charles remains sitting for a moment, admires the way the white moonlight glints on Erik’s cheek. He brushes two fingers across Erik’s cheek compulsively, drags his nail over Erik’s lip.   
  
Eyes sliding open, Erik reaches out to silently clasp a hand around Charles’ hipbone, pull him down underneath the sheets.   
  
Charles sidles in easily next to Charles, eyes still wide open, even as Erik closes his.   
  
“What are you looking at, Xavier?” Erik says, his mouth curling fondly around Charles’ name and Charles scoots in closer, close enough to feel Erik’s body radiating heat. He taps a finger on Erik’s collarbone. “You.”   
  
Erik makes a disbelieving noise and pulls Charles’ closer, so that Charles’ knees press against Erik’s thighs, one arm curled in between their bodies.   
  
“I’m afraid if I stop looking, you’ll leave,” Charles admits, and Erik’s eyebrows furrow, but his eyes remain closed. Erik burrows his cheek further into his pillow, tightens his grip on Charles’ hip.   
  
Charles listens to the quiet sound of Erik’s breathing, watches the way his ribcage expands and contracts, ribs pressing against his skin. When Erik speaks again, Charles watches the way his mouth moves.   
  
“When I was fourteen,” he says slowly, eyes clenched shut, “My mother died, working herself to death, trying to support me.”   
  
Erik makes a small noise, pulls Charles impossibly closer. “I worked as hard as I could after that. For ten years, I threw myself into the company and I – ” his eyes open and Charles’ stomach clenches at the pain reflected in them, “It was all I knew.”   
  
“Erik,” Charles breathes out.   
  
“The point is,” Erik says, lips tight, “I haven’t – I haven’t been with anyone seriously since then – ”   
  
“You don’t have to,” Charles says abruptly, “I mean, that is, if you don’t this to be – ”   
  
“No,” Erik interrupts, “I just,” he sighs.   
  
Charles hesitates, doesn’t want to push for an answer, not when Erik is vulnerable this. _It can wait_ , Charles thinks to himself and leans in, presses his mouth against Erik’s forehead, hopes that it will translate into something that resembles _I can wait_ .   
  
The sheets collect around their bodies as they shift towards one another, pooling into mountains and valleys around their ankles and knees, their waists and shoulders. Charles doesn’t know which one of them slips into sleep first; all he knows is that when he finally gives in, he falls asleep warm and satiated.   
  
\-   
  
Charles sits in his bedroom, in Westchester, a biology textbook open in his lap.   
  
He turns a page, relishes the sound of paper rasping against paper, runs a finger over a diagram of a karyotype.   
  
“Charles?” someone calls him.   
  
_Don’t interrupt me please_ , Charles wants to say, but his mouth refuses to move, _not while I’m studying._ Outside, through glass windows, Charles can see a rolling green lawn, grass rippling gently in a zephyr.   
  
He glances back down to his lap, and his biology textbook has morphed into a stack of proposals.   
  
“Charles?”   
  
Charles blinks away the last dregs of his dream, and as he shifts, he feels the wonderful mattress sinking beautifully underneath him.   
  
Erik stands in the doorway to the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still damp. Charles lets his gaze linger on the dark color of Erik’s nipples, the way water droplets cling to his chest. “We’re going to be late.”   
  
“You won’t be late,” Charles murmurs confidently, lets his head fall back onto the plush pillow. “I’ll be late.” He turns back into the sheets.   
  
“Charles,” Erik repeats. “I already turned off your alarm for you, get up.”   
  
“Thank you,” Charles says into his pillow. “You go on ahead, I’ll take an Uber.”   
  
“Charles,” says Erik and Charles says sleepily, “”You can’t possibly drive me to work.”   
  
Erik sighs. “If you’re more than fifteen minutes late,” he begins warningly and Charles lifts his head interestedly at this.   
  
“What will you do?” Charles smirks, “Punish me?”   
  
“I’ll transfer you to Frost’s department,” Erik says, already turning towards the bathroom. Charles lets his head fall onto the pillow with a thump.   
  
\-   
  
“You’re late,” Angel hisses, sticking her head out of the office as Charles walks by.   
  
Charles smoothly replies, “Good morning, Angel.”   
  
“Xavier?” Erik calls out as Charles begins to pass his office. Charles licks his lips, leans into Erik’s room.   
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr?” he asks. Erik doesn’t even look up from his laptop.   
  
“You’re late.”   
  
Glancing down at his watch, Charles says, “Only eight minutes.”   
  
When Erik looks up, he looks absolutely bored, says indifferently, “Get to work.”   
  
_Damn, he’s good_ , Charles thinks to himself, but says, “Yes, sir,” aloud, the honorific slipping out before Charles can stop it.   
  
The day races by easily, a long blur of writing proposals, coffee breaks, and skirting around Erik’s office.   
  
“Mr. Xavier,” someone says as they walk by, rapping against his office’s door frame. “Meeting.”   
  
“What for,” Charles says absently.   
  
“Hendry’s got a budgeting proposal he wants to run in front of the department. Come on, you’ll be late.”   
  
He sighs, “Thank you Sean,” and the boy nods.   
  
Charles packs up a moment later after that, heads down the hallway and turns into the large conference room, which is beginning to fill.   
  
There’s an empty seat between Dr. Cho and Hank that Charles slides into, murmurs a quick greeting while simultaneously popping open his suit jacket.   
  
At the head of the long table sits Erik, muttering something to an older man beside him.   
  
Charles sees Devina, Angel, Darwin, and a few other familiar faces around the desk, but mostly stern employees that Charles never sees, on account of the fact that they’re always in their offices.   
  
“Alright,” Erik says, not loudly, but his voice carries, quiets the entire conference room with a single word. Charles shivers. Erik nods his head at the man next to him. “I think we can begin.”   
  
“I’ve placed a tentative budget plan in front of everyone this morning,” the man – Robert Hendry – says. “As we approach the end of the year, we have to submit our plans for the next, as you all know. This plan is essentially the same one we wrote last year, with the exception of – ”   
  
Hendry drones on, but Charles doesn’t hear him, his eyes glancing over the paper in front of him, scanning the numbers quickly. His lips move as he mentally calculates, _carry the one, five, seven –_ _  
_ _  
_ Charles frowns. He looks up.   
  
Hendry’s still talking, lips barely moving as he speaks. Helen sits in front of Charles and she glances at him, catches his gaze. For a second, her eyes light with realization and she dips her chin, almost imperceptibly, then looks away once more.   
  
Shifting in his seat, Charles glances around. Barely anyone is reading the proposal; instead, they watch Hendry indifferently. Charles clears his throat loudly.   
  
He feels the gaze of the entire room on him, but Charles looks only at Hendry.   
  
“Sorry,” he says. “But, Mr. Hendry, I just wanted to confirm that the numbers for the research department are accurate. On the proposal, that is.”   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Charles thinks he sees Angel make an abortive gesture, but ignores her.   
  
“Yes, Mr. – ”   
  
“Xavier,” Charles finishes firmly, refuses to look away from Hendry.   
  
“Yes, Mr. Xavier,” Hendry says, “They are correct.” Hendry turns his gaze away from that end of the table, looks back towards the people closest to him. “As I was saying, the department – ”   
  
Charles glances at Erik, who looks down at his paper, face impassive.   
  
“Excuse me,” Charles says again. He can feel Helen watching him silently from across the table. “I apologize for the interruption again, Mr. Hendry, but it’s just that, if my calculations are correct, we’ve allotted less than twenty-percent of our funds to the research division.”   
  
“Your calculations are correct, Xavier,” Hendry says, looks at him. “Is there a problem?”   
  
And Hank, who sits next to Charles, whispers warningly, “Charles.”   
  
Charles ignores him. “Mr. Hendry, I just think that we’re wasting an opportunity here.”   
  
Hendry leans back into his seat. “Care to explain yourself?”   
  
“Well, I simply think that allocating more funds towards research would be a wise investment, considering the amount of intelligence we have working in our laboratories.” He feels Angel’s gaze boring holes into the back of his head.   
  
“Xavier,” Hendry huffs, and Erik still won’t look at him, “We’ve been doing this for years.”   
  
Charles leans forward, feels his skin heating, feels his blood burning. “Precisely. The research division is underdeveloped at best, which your staff has been trying to overcome,” Charles tilts his head towards Hank, “But money begets money, Mr. Hendry, and you can’t possibly expect to have revenue from the division if you don’t decide to invest in it.”   
  
“Xavier,” he thinks Devina hisses from his left, but he ignores her.   
  
“In my opinion, allotting just twenty-five percent of our budget into the division would give the entire department a very large return on investment,” Charles finishes confidently.   
  
Hendry raises an eyebrow and Charles opens his mouth to continue building his argument, much to Angel and Hank’s chagrin, when he hears a curt, “Xavier, sit down.”   
  
Automatically, Charles’ mouth snaps shut, blood boiling, and he sinks back into his seat mortified, hadn’t even realized when he started to rise.   
  
Erik clears his throat and speaks again, except this time to Hendry. “You were saying?”   
  
“Christ,” Hank murmurs under his breath.   
  
The rest of the meeting unfolds without a hitch; Hendry concludes his presentation and Devina thanks him. Charles watches it all without saying a word.   
  
As soon as Erik concludes the meeting, Hank and Darwin are rising, all but darting from the room. As Charles slides his papers into his briefcase, he can see Helen, Hendry, Devina, and Erik congregating around the head of the table, murmuring amongst themselves.   
  
“Charles,” Angel hisses behind him and Charles turns. “My God, I thought you were going to stand up and – ”   
  
“I didn’t, though,” Charles interrupts hotly, “I thought the point of these conferences was to discuss the plans, not just accept whatever’s placed in front of us.   
  
“Even so,” Angel starts, “Charles, you can’t do things like that, can you imagine how – ”   
  
“Ms. Salvadore,” Erik says, voice low and clear. The two of them turn to look at Erik, who is still collecting his papers. “I’ll talk with Xavier later. Devina would like to speak with you.”   
  
Charles exhales shakily, doesn’t meet Erik’s gaze. He feels Angel give him a look before she brushes past him, leaving the conference room.   
  
Not a moment later, he hears, “He’s got you on a leash, now, doesn’t he?”   
  
Charles whirls around to see none other than Emma Frost, still clad in all-white, eyes cold. Immediately Charles looks around the conference room, but it’s empty save for Frost and himself.   
  
“I came by to see Devina, and then I saw you all in the meeting; thought I’d pop in to say hello.” She smirks. “Hello.”   
  
“What are you talking about,” Charles says blandly.   
  
“Lehnsherr, obviously. He’s got you wrapped around his finger.”   
  
For some reason, a wave of heat rises in Charles’ chest, but he isn’t sure if it’s anger or something else.   
  
Charles shakes his head, shuts his briefcase, says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”   
  
And Frost glances down at her nails when she says, “You ignored everyone else when they told you to stop.”   
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr is my superior,” Charles sighs, begins to step around Frost when the woman moves right in front of him, eyes piercing.   
  
“So is Devina,” Frost murmurs. She looks at him for a moment more, before turning around and heading out of the room without another word, leaving Charles alone.   
  
After that, the rest of the day races by, like cars doing 95 miles per hour on 101, their headlights blurring into a single streak of light, racing down the dark road.   
  
Devina calls out a farewell and Charles feels his stomach tighten with anticipation, heart racing even as he hears her heels muted against the carpet.   
  
He’s out of his seat, running a hand through his hair, heading to Erik’s office under the pretext of asking about a project outline, as soon as he hears the ding of the elevator.   
  
The shutters of Erik’s office are drawn tight, his door closed. Charles knocks, can’t seem to get the door open quick enough when Erik calls out, “Come in.”   
  
When the door shuts behind him, Charles pauses, heart lurching in his chest, papers clutched in front of him.   
  
Erik looks the same as ever, standing over his desk, shuffling papers and putting them into his briefcase.   
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles says slowly, name rolling around his mouth, as if Charles has to test it before he lets anyone else hear. Suddenly, he can feel the last bits of his confidence abandon him, and Charles wonders for the umpteenth time, what is it about Erik that makes him shred his self-assurance so easily?   
  
“Xavier,” Erik spares him a glance before beginning to latch his briefcase shut.   
  
“Could you – ” Charles clears his throat, cuts his gaze to the floor when he realizes that they’ve never strictly established any boundaries, and now, as Charles second-guesses himself, he struggles to finish his sentence. “I was wondering if you could look over my papers, before you left.”   
  
“I’ve somewhere to be today. Leave them on my desk and I’ll look them over tomorrow,” Erik says flatly and Charles feels like a pair of invisible hands is squeezing his chest, compressing his ribcage.   
  
“Right,” he says, attempting to school his expression into something appropriate, as Erik heads toward the door. Immediately, something in the back of Charles’ head rouses, thinks that Erik looks dangerous, like a _predator_ –   
  
Charles attempts to move out of the way but Erik beats him to it, striding up to Charles and, instead of perhaps asking Charles to move, or nudging Charles out of the way, Erik brushes a hand on Charles’ wrist, the one holding the papers in front of him, thumb smoothing over the back of Charles’ hand. Instantly, Charles makes a choked noise, can’t help but lean back into the door behind him, waiting for Erik to touch him; every muscle in his body strains in expectancy – _classical conditioning_ , he thinks to himself –   
  
Erik’s grip tightens on Charles’ wrist and the man moves in closer, stands tall over Charles and his shoulders are unbelievably broad, shadows heightening the sharp angle of his jaw. As Erik’s body curls slightly around Charles, his posture demands deference. Subsequently, there’s the aching realization that Charles is willing to give it to him – _wants_ to –   
  
And then, quick as a snake, Erik darts forward to press his lips forcefully against Charles’ mouth in a heated kiss.   
  
It takes all of Charles’ willpower to keep himself still, to stop himself from surging forward. Instead, he lets the smell of Erik wash over him, until Charles’ head whirls with want, his thoughts addled by the proximity to Erik. As Erik cups his jaw with two hot fingers, Charles feels his thighs quiver.   
  
The connection is tantalizingly brief, and when Erik pulls away abruptly, Charles has to fight from letting out a whine.   
  
“Go home,” Erik says, eyes still half-lidded – Charles thinks that he’s looking at his mouth – and when he breathes their breaths mingle. “You look exhausted, Charles.”   
  
And Charles doesn’t say anything to that, can’t stop looking at Erik –   
  
“You don’t have to stay after hours all the time,” Erik says amusedly, one hand still cradling Charles’ jaw and Charles murmurs, “But I want to.”   
  
Erik gives him an unreadable expression then, leans in quick to press his mouth tight against Charles’ before pulling back, his hands leaving Charles’ body. Reluctantly, Charles steps away from the door, lets Erik tug at the handle.   
  
“We’ll be discussing your behavior at the conference tomorrow,” Erik says after stepping from the door and Charles flushes. “Good night, Xavier.”   
  
And then Erik’s gone, heading down the hallway, each stride fluid and confident and Charles’ chest aches.   
  
“Good night, Mr. Lehnsherr,” he says to Erik’s receding figure, turns off the lights with a gentle click.   
  
\-   
  
“You know the holiday party’s coming up,” Raven comments the next evening, when Charles drops by to share a dinner with her and Hank.   
  
“And how do you,” Charles asks thoughtfully, waves a fork in the air, “Not an employee of X-Trusion, know that before both Hank and I?”   
  
“Thank you Hank,” Raven smiles sweetly as Hank comes into the dining room, carrying a bowl of pasta, sets it onto the table.   
  
Charles murmurs his agreement, digs in happily.   
  
Raven says, “Angel told me. And also, the holiday party is always the first week of December.”   
  
Hank exchanges a glance with Charles and Raven continues chattering amiably, oblivious to everything besides her pasta and her own train of thought.   
  
Dinner with Hank and Raven is always a pleasant affair, Charles thinks, much later after the three of them have managed to finish washing the dishes, as Hank retires to his study room.   
  
Idly, Charles flips through the TV. He thoughtfully mutes the television for Hank, who works diligently. Charles slouches on the plump couch in the living room, Raven sitting next to him, breathing evenly.   
  
“Charles?” she asks, softly, and suddenly Charles is transported back to their home at Westchester, Raven curled around him after a particularly frightening nightmare.   
  
Charles squeezes her shoulder. “Hm?”   
  
“Are you,” she deliberates, eyes still fixed on the TV screen. “I mean, have you talked to Lehnsherr? At all?”   
  
Something in Charles’ chest stiffens. “Somewhat,” he admits slowly, thinks of their conversation in Erik’s darkened bedroom that night, Erik’s hand curled tight around Charles’ hip. “I don’t – ” Charles breaks off.   
  
Raven straightens up then, scoots close to Charles and wraps a tight palm around Charles’ hand.   
  
“I tried to talk to him, and he listened, he really did – I just,” Charles breaks off, frowns at the TV, knots his fingers into Raven’s. “The more I get to know him,” he admits softly, “The easier it becomes to understand him, and Christ, he’s incredible; I can’t even begin to – ”   
  
“You slept with him again,” Raven murmurs, not asking but not quite stating either. The TV lights flicker in her eyes.   
  
Something catches in Charles’ throat and he can’t bring himself to lie to her. He exhales steadily.   
  
“Frost came to the department the other day,” he says blankly, a few minutes later. “I think Quested said something to her.”   
  
Raven frowns, removes her hand from Charles’. “Why would – ”   
  
“Someone must’ve said something to her,” says Charles, almost to himself, “Otherwise she never would’ve suspected.”   
  
“Charles,” Raven hisses, scooting back to look at him. “I am trying to _help_ you here.”   
  
“And I appreciate that, very much,” Charles replies smoothly.   
  
Raven shakes her head. “You’re so arrogant, Charles, just like you were before you left; you know, you haven’t changed at all, you think you know everything – ”   
  
“What do you know about it?” retorts Charles hotly.   
  
“I’ve been here longer than you have! Hank’s seen more than you can ever imagine, Charles, and you know he tells me – ”   
  
“God,” Charles sits up, spits the next words out, “You sound just like him. You sound just like Erik.”   
  
“Maybe because he’s right,” Raven snaps in reprisal.   
  
“You’ve never even spoken to the man!” Charles throws up an exasperated hand, rises from the couch. “Raven, I’m capable of making my own decisions.”   
  
From behind him, Charles hears her says quietly, “That’s what I said to you, before you left.”   
  
And something inside of Charles collapses, all the frustration he’d been carrying in his chest dissolving in a rush. “I,” he whispers, gaze turned unseeing towards the garden through the glass panes of the patio door. “God, Raven, I’m so sorry, I didn’t – ”   
  
“I know,” she says and she sounds amused. Charles whirls around.   
  
A sad smile tugs at her lips. “I know you are,” she repeats. “That’s why you came back.”   
  
“After you asked me to,” Charles says bitterly and Raven sighs.   
  
“I’ve put this behind us, Charles,” she says and Charles strides back to the couch, sits next to her.   
  
“I didn’t want this,” he says, truthfully. “Alright? I knew that whatever – whatever happened with Erik would be – ”   
  
“A disaster?” Raven looks at him, annoyed. “That’s the thing with you, Charles, that’s the thing, alright? You always think – you always think you know the best and you always get what you deserve, but sometimes – ”   
  
“And I do!” Charles explodes, “I work hard, Raven, which none of you seem to understand! I work hard to get the things I want.”   
  
“And sometimes,” she says icily, “Sometimes you can work for your whole life and not get what you want.”   
  
Charles clamps his mouth shut.   
  
“Jesus, Charles,” Raven says, softer, looking back at the TV. A strand of hair falls into her face and Charles resists the urge to push it back. “If you knew it wouldn’t end well, why did you start it in the first place?”   
  
“I knew he wanted it too,” Charles sighs, and he struggles to keep his voice low, “I didn’t plan on doing anything – honestly, the night of your party – but, God, Raven the way he _looked_ at me and when I kissed him, he fucking kissed back.”   
  
“You’re impossible,” Raven snarls, head jerking to look at him.   
  
“How am I impossible?” Charles is unable to back down, his voice taut with challenge, “I gave him what we both wanted, I gave him a chance to back out, I don’t see how – ”   
  
“You’re so stubborn, Charles,” Raven hisses, and her eyes are heated, “You’re stubborn and arrogant and you’re – ” she struggles for a moment, “You’re a fucking bloodhound, okay? You catch one whiff, one hint of weakness and you fucking pounce, you _attack_. Just try, for once, to think of someone else and not be so goddamn greedy.”   
  
Charles whirls around, eyes flashing. “You can’t get anywhere if you always give yourself up – I didn’t graduate from Oxford two years early by putting others before myself.”   
  
“That’s it,” she blurts out, “That’s it right there, Charles, you’re always talking about yourself and for someone who’s _so good_ with people – ”   
  
“And I _am_ ,” Charles defends himself, “I _know people_ , Raven, we’re both well aware of that, and I also know that I can fix this – ”   
  
“For someone who claims that he’s so good with people,” she continues over him, “You’re being very narrow-minded about this situation! You need to _open your eyes_ , Charles!”   
  
When Charles doesn’t speak, she continues, voice hushed, “I just want to help you, Charles. God, I – You left once. And I don’t want you to have to leave again.”   
  
Charles’ chest corrugates into something tight and shriveled. “Why,” he asks, almost dreading the answer, “Why would I leave?”   
  
She looks at him and it’s at this moment that Charles realizes how well Raven knows him, how she was the only one, the only constant by his side throughout the majority of his life, save for a blurry handful of years in Oxford. When she speaks, it’s with an edge that Charles doesn’t recognize.   
  
Raven says, “You tend to leave the problems you can’t fix,” and Charles can’t stop the throb of compunction that swells in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel very unsure about this chapter; I wrestled with it for a while before posting it, but I'm still not sure if I'm satisfied or not. Regardless, I apologize for the delay!


	4. four

Watson and Crick’s model of DNA replication remained untested for several years following publication of the DNA structure. The requisite experiments were simple in concept but difficult to perform. Watson and Crick’s model predicts that when a double helix replicates, each of the two daughter molecules will have one old strand derived from the parent molecule and one newly made strand. Finally, in the late 1950s, Matthew Meselson and Franklin Stahl devised experiments that tested the hypothesis. Their experiments supported the semiconservative model of DNA replication, as predicted by Watson and Crick. This basic principle of DNA replication is elegantly simple. However, the actual process involves some complicated biochemical processes, as we will now see.  
  
\- Campbell Reece’s _Biology,_  Seventh Edition  
  
  
Four  
  
From the outside, X-Trusion’s walls loom ominously, dark and reflective. On the inside, however, the main lobby is spacious, allowing for the steady traffic of workers in and out of the building, up and down the various floors. Light streams in through the glass walls, reflects off the marble floor and white walls. Charles tightens his grip on his briefcase.  
  
“Excuse me,” he says. He pushes past a throng of chattering businessmen in pinstripe suits.  
  
Maneuvering quickly through the well-lit lobby, Charles manages to slide into a crowded elevator just before it closes.  
  
“Third?” a gruff voice calls out. Charles doesn’t have enough room to turn around and face the speaker.  
  
“Please.”  
  
A quiet ding fills the elevator as someone presses three, accompanying the mechanical humming of the elevator and the quiet murmur of a conversation in the corner.  
  
Charles walks to his office unhurriedly, letting the quiet susurration of the office space flood over him.  
  
It feels so easy to fall into the rhythm of the office, easy to lose himself within the work, so it comes as surprise when Charles hears a knock at his door.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles says, can’t hide the surprise in his voice.  
  
Erik holds up the papers from last night. “When did you start writing project outlines for Helen?”  
  
“Dr. Cho asked me to,” answers Charles.  
  
At Erik’s raised eyebrow, Charles adds, “I may have, erm, offered to, aftering reading through her paper on the new 3D printer.” Erik steps further into the room, and Charles feels all of his attention pooling around Erik, the room feeling somehow smaller with his presence.  
  
“That was quite a performance yesterday,” Erik ignores Charles’ comment, comes over to the side of Charles’ desk to lean against it and Charles thinks of the very first time, when Angel had come in and interrupted them. “In the conference room,” he adds belatedly and Charles wonders if he did that on purpose. Probably.  
  
“Did Hendry accept it?” Charles shuffles through a pile of papers on his desk, doesn’t watch the way Erik’s pants crease around his belt, tight around his waist. In his peripheral vision, Charles can see the silky material of Erik’s gray tie catching the overhead lights, glinting.  
  
Erik is perfectly calm when he replies, “I’m sorry?”  
  
“Did he budget more money toward the research division?”  
  
“He discussed it with Helen and Devina and I this morning,” Erik says and Charles can feel his gaze boring into him.  
  
Charles can’t help prompting, “And?”  
  
Erik deliberates for a moment, folds his hands into his lap and Charles does not allow himself to acknowledge the mouth-watering way that Erik’s suit clings to his back, tight over his broad shoulders and impossibly slim waist.  
  
“Twenty-five percent allotted toward the research department next year,” Erik says after a minute.  
  
Charles lets out a small noise: half of contemplation, half of surprise.  
  
“However,” interrupts Erik smoothly, “I do want to remind you that both Devina and Hendry are your superiors, and you’d best mind your behavior in front of the department from now on.”  
  
Charles bites back a scoff. “You know as well as I do that there’s no way Hendry would’ve taken me seriously unless I interjected right then.”  
  
“Nevertheless,” concedes Erik, “Your misbehavior reflects the department, and me.”  
  
“But Hendry approved,” Charles frowns. “He raised the funds for – ”  
  
“Xavier,” Erik says, in that voice that he’d used in the conference room, and it’s just that, just that one word, and Charles’ mouth reflexively snaps close, “There are certain rules around here – ”  
  
“That only serve to keep the same company protocols in place every single year,” Charles dares to interrupt, eyes fixed on Erik. “They were implemented to keep the system in place.”  
  
“Correct,” Erik narrows his eyes, crosses his legs and Charles’ gaze flits over them before returning to meet Erik’s reticent countenance, “And you’d do best to remember that.”  
  
Charles challenges, an edge behind his words, “How can the company flourish without change?” but Erik gives him such an expectant look that Charles adds hastily, “Sir,” holding his gaze steady and ignoring the blush spreading hot across his cheeks.  
  
Erik’s eyes darken at the honorific and something changes in the air, molecules shifting, condensing and Charles thinks of the Oparin-Haldane hypothesis – lightning engendering the creation of the first organic molecules, sparks discharging over the primeval sea –  
  
“We don’t need to flourish, Xavier, we need to continue making enough money to meet our quota. Mr. Mehigan – ”  
  
“Like I said to Mr. Hendry,” Charles interrupts pointedly, doesn’t miss the way Erik’s eyes flash with something sharp, “We are leaving many possibilities unexplored by remaining in the same sphere that we’ve always occupied; and I believe this applies to the bioengineering situation as well,” Charles straightens in his seat, “How can you ever expect to make the department better if you don’t try something different? Einstein defined insanity as repeating something over and over and expecting a different result.”  
  
“We aren’t expecting anything different, Xavier, that’s the point,” Erik says slowly, as if trying to restrain himself. He looks at Charles and Charles stares back heatedly.  
  
“Do you just leave them then?” Charles says a moment later, still lost in Erik’s eyes.  
  
“Leave? Xavier, what are you – ”  
  
“Leave your problems for someone else to address? Did no one realize that the research division actually had a negative return on investment for the last three years? Mr. Lehnsherr, the division was consuming your funds; don’t tell me no one brought that up. I simply offered a solution to your problem when no one else would.”  
  
And Erik’s eyes smolder. He tenses his shoulders, as if ready to speak again, then jerks his head to the right, glances at the door.  
  
“Hello,” Frost purrs from where she leans against the doorframe. Charles’ stomach plummets; he hadn’t even noticed her, too engrossed in Erik – “Erik, do you always let your subordinates talk to you like that?” she asks cheerfully. When Erik remains unforthcoming, she says, “I just wanted to discuss some plans with you, for the holiday party.” Her mouth twists into an exaggerated pout. “You know how Moira gets.”  
  
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Erik says. When Frost remains in the doorway he repeat, “I’ll be there in a moment, Emma.”  
  
She gives him one last look before leaving the office.  
  
Charles waits a few moments before blurting out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know the door – ”  
  
Erik holds up a hand, his face turned away from Charles. He straightens, pushing himself off the desk. “I know you didn’t,” he says, voice rumbling, “You’re always caught up in your own world, Xavier.”  
  
Charles bites back a retort, doesn’t say the words dancing on his tongue: _I was caught up in_ you.  
  
Striding across the room, Erik leaves without a word.  
  
“Charles,” someone calls a while later, knocking on Charles’ doorframe.  
  
He looks up. “Hello, Angel, what can I do for you?”  
  
“It’s not for me, actually.” Her hands are clasped around a mug of steaming coffee. “It’s for the boss. Lehnsherr wants you in conference room A.”  
  
Charles frowns. “Now?”  
  
Nodding, she answers, “Ms. McTaggert and the doctor are discussing the holiday party. Biomed’s in charge of decorations this year,” and Charles lets out a friendly groan. Angel laughs outright at this, “Sounds right up my alley, huh?” She shakes her head. “Moira gets together with each department every year and assigns each one something to do.”  
  
Angel smirks when Charles lets out a feigned sigh, gets up and heads to the conference room.  
  
A rowdy arrangement waits for him. Alex and Sean are laughing over something at the back of the room, Darwin nodding along amicably. Hank discusses something with Helen Cho, who stands at the front of the room. Between them, Charles sees Devina, Moira, and a few others, scattered along the conference table.  
  
Angel and Charles steal a pair of seats by Moira; Charles nods at her, remembers vividly calling her Champagne-Lady, and she smiles in return.  
  
“Alright,” Helen says, and like Erik, she seems to command the attention in the room, demanding silence. “As you all know, the holiday party’s coming up, and this year, the biomed department is charge of decoration,” she nods at Moira. “So I’ve asked Erik to give me a few assistants and,” she spreads her hands, “Here we are.”  
  
“We should have streamers,” Darwin says and Helen says, “Everything we decide on has to be approved by Moira, though, so bear that in mind.”  
  
“Streamers,” Darwin nods again wisely. Moira laughs.  
  
The energy-level in the conference room remains high after that, as they shout out suggestions and Moira and Helen review them. There’s a particular moment when Helen agrees with Angel about setting up stand up tables for employees to stand around. “Right, but they should be small ones, for two people.”  
  
Sean snorts then, and Alex smirks.  
  
“Something to add, boys?” Moira remarks self-assuredly.  
  
“No,” Darwin says firmly, over Sean’s giggles.  
  
“Go ahead Sean,” Helen sighs, “You won’t stop until you get it out.”  
  
Alex buries his head in his hands.  
  
“Well,” Sean says boldly, “We were just betting on whether or not Mr. Lehnsherr would ask you to accompany him to the party. I put in twenty,” he adds confidently.  
  
And Helen fixes him with such a stern look that the humor drains from his face. “Sorry, doc,” he mumbles.  
  
“Anyway,” Helen continues breezily, as if nothing had happened.  
  
But something acerbic worms into Charles’ gut and his thoughts are racing even as he leaves the conference room an hour later.  
  
-  
  
The rest of the week passes quickly; Charles remains absorbed in his work, writing furiously as he struggles to complete both his, Hank’s, and Dr. Cho’s papers before the end of the week.  
  
The entire department seems to work even more furiously than usually as the party and the holidays approach. Consequently, Charles barely has enough time to finish his work, let alone speak to Erik, save for one memorable occasion where, after-hours, Charles finds Erik shirtless in the locker room, skin glistening from a shower. Eventually, Charles ends up with his wrists pinned above his head, against the cold metal of the locker, begging Erik as the latter teases him mercilessly.  
  
Locker room aside, Charles sees Erik a week later, as employees and their guests spill into the top floor of X-Trusion for the holiday party.  
  
“I think the lights are nice,” Raven comments, over the soft music playing in the background as she, Hank, Charles, and Moira step from the elevator.  
  
Moira shoulders him easily, “Better than streamers, huh? Charles snorts.  
  
“Is this the entire company?” Charles asks, eyes the crowded floor. Moira, who wears a shapely gray dress, answers.  
  
“Hardly. I’d say this is only a third.”  
  
“Everyone else is missing out,” Raven smirks, tossing her blonde hair over a strap of her red dress. “They’re too old to have a bit of fun.”  
  
And although Charles raises an eyebrow at that, he realizes that most of the party _does_ consist of the younger employees, chattering lively around the stand up tables and drinks table.  
  
“Come on,” Hank says, gently steers Raven towards the large, sit-down tables, “Mr. Mehigan’s about to make his speech.”  
  
The quartet obliges eagerly, heading across the floor to find their seats.  
  
“Helen,” Moira calls, face breaking into a smile when the doctor turns from one of the stand-up tables. “Hello, hello Erik.”  
  
Cho turns around to greet Moira warmly, but Charles doesn’t hear her words. Instead, he sucks in a sharp breath as he takes in the figure that Helen has her arm folded around.  
  
To complement Helen’s maroon dress, Erik wears a broad maroon tie, resting on his jugular notch. Erik stands about half a foot taller than Helen, even when she wears a pair of thick heels, and Charles can’t get over how attractive they look together, Erik tall and broad and Helen delicate and slender. Erik’s bespoke suit clings to his shoulders, tapers down to his waist and Charles struggles to maintain his composure.  
  
As the department heads exchange pleasantries, Raven pulls Charles back a step. “Are you okay?” she murmurs, lips barely moving and Charles has to bite down a bitter laugh. “It was my idea for him to take her,” he reminds Raven, thinks of the way Frost had looked at him after Hendry’s meeting.  
  
“Just checking,” mutters Raven before a smile breaks over her face and she shakes hands with Helen. As they greet each other, Erik’s gaze dances over Charles, before he outstretches a hand. “Xavier.”  
  
Charles shakes it firmly, prays that Erik can’t feel the tremble in his fingers. “Mr. Lehnsherr.”  
  
And then their handshake breaks, Erik pulling back as Moira says something funny. Raven lets out a bark of laughter and Charles forces himself to smile. He thinks of that shrouded evening at Erik’s house, days ago, when Erik had fucked him into the mattress as Erik’s fingers wrap around Helen’s hip, thinks of Erik’s mouth between Charles’ legs when Erik pulls her close, not touching, but just a finger’s width of space between them.  
  
Hank herds them all across the floor, towards the linen-draped tables. Helen and Erik depart, their table somewhere on the other side of the room. Moira laughs at something Hank says and then offers her farewells, heads to the opposite side of the tables.  
  
The evening passes by, Charles alone with Raven and Hank once more, chatting amiably with a few coworkers at their circular table of ten. Sipping his champagne, Charles half-listens to Mehigan as he drones on, in a horribly clichéd speech about tying up loose ends, the coming of another year.  
  
“Finally,” Hank mutters, when Mehigan eventually concludes his speech, to the polite applause of the floor.  
  
“Are we eating now?” Raven asks.  
  
Dinner passes by without a hitch, conversation flowing smoothly between Raven and Hank, Hank and Darwin, Darwin and Charles, Charles and Raven. Charles nods at Devina and Sean, who are seated at the table adjacent to them, shakes his head fondly when he sees Sean scarfing down his steak.  
  
Halfway through dessert, Raven knocks over her glass, much to the amusement of Alex, but other than that dinner concludes peacefully, and Charles leans back into his seat, sips at his drink, as another man comes up to the podium to make a speech.  
  
Charles can feel his attention waning rapidly, as he traces the rim of his champagne glass with pinky. It seems as though there’s no end in sight, so Charles stands up quietly, murmurs to Raven a quick excuse about heading to the bathroom.  
  
Strolling across the floor, Charles passes by Helen and Erik’s table as he heads to the bathroom, doesn’t so much as spare them a glance.  
  
He walks into the bathroom with no intention other than to splash his face with a bit of cold water and stretch his legs before returning to the tables. Charles looks at himself in the mirror, and is about to adjust his tie when the bathroom door swings open.  
  
At the sight of Erik, Charles has to immediately swallow to keep from blurting out his sentences.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” he finally manages, ever aware of the fact that a few mere feet past the bathroom door lies the entirety of X-Trusion.  
  
Erik ignores him, strides over to the sink adjacent to Charles and proceeds to flip the water on, lets the faucet run loudly.  
  
“Your tie is off,” he remarks off-handedly and Charles fights the urge to sink to his knees right then and there.  
  
“Is that so?” Charles blinks innocently, turns to face Erik. Erik’s nostrils flare, the water still rushing, as he steps forward, tilts his head down to tug at Charles’ tie and, fuck, it feels like submission when Charles tips his chin back, reveals his throat to Erik.  
  
The material of the tie tightens around Charles’ neck as Erik tugs him forward, eyes fixed on Charles’ bare throat.  
  
“Please,” Charles breathes, and he can smell Erik’s cologne, achingly familiar after a week of nothingness, “Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles whimpers and he meant to say Erik, he really did, but he can’t bring himself to regret it when Erik all but pounces, propels the two of them backwards into an open stall.  
  
“The water’s still running,” Charles manages to gasp when Erik spins them around, shoves Charles against the wall of the bathroom stall, locks it with a decisive click.  
  
Erik tugs harder on Charles’ tie and Charles groans. Erik still hasn’t touched him yet, only to push him against the stall but even then, it isn’t enough.  
  
“Then you can make a little noise for me, can’t you,” Erik exhales, and Charles shudders when Erik releases his tie, snakes his arms behind Charles to plant his palms on his ass and then yank up forcefully, hitching Charles’ feet off the ground in a display of strength that has him gasping.  
  
With his forearms twisted underneath Charles’ thighs, Erik steps in smoothly between Charles’ legs, stomach pressing right against Charles’ half-hard cock.  
  
Charles struggles to keep his breathing even. His dress shoes dangle uselessly in the air, and surrenders all notion of control over the situation as Erik launches an attack on Charles’ neck. His stomach twists with pleasure and anticipation, fingers skimming over Erik’s shoulders, not daring to touch his hair for fear of rumpling it.  
  
“Can you beg for me, Xavier? Can you do that?” Erik breathes lowly, his breath hot against Charles’ skin.  
  
And Charles blinks blindly as Erik all but shoves his stomach against Charles’ crotch, ruts roughly against Charles’ erection. Charles’ toes curl into his shoes and his hips twitch of their own accord, desperate for more –  
  
“Oh,” Charles gasps, clutches onto Erik’s shoulders helplessly, “Fuck, Erik, please, I need – ”  
  
“You’re so sensitive,” Erik murmurs, reaching up with one hand to tweak at Charles’ nipple through his shirt and Charles whines unabashedly. At the same time, Erik pushes Charles up even more, hips slotting neatly underneath Charles’ ass to push him further up against the stall door. “Always blushing, always whining – ”  
  
Blinking back tears, Charles can hardly register the words when Erik reaches down to cup at Charles’ crotch; every muscle in Charles’ body wound tight with lust.  
  
Erik whispers, “Let me hear you, Charles,” and Charles cries out, buries his face into Erik’s neck when he comes in a humiliating, seething rush, inside his pants, just from humping Erik’s stomach.  
  
Erik is still murmuring into Charles’ ear – “So fucking responsive, can’t believe you just came like that, without me even touching you, ” – when Charles slumps back against the stall, his spine melting into liquid.  
  
Charles’ mind still whirs after his orgasm, so much that he can barely recognize the quiet swish of the bathroom door opening over the sound of the running faucet, over his own ragged breathing.  
  
Almost instantaneously, Erik’s hand clasps over Charles’ mouth, hot and salty – Charles can smell it – and Erik murmurs into Charles’ ear, voice so low Charles can barely hear, “Be quiet now, Xavier.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” the third voice says, and Charles thinks it’s probably McCone, or Hendry, who shuts off the faucet. “Wasting water,” the man mumbles and Charles can hardly breathe, his post-coital brain abruptly recognizing the implications of being caught, and Charles silently thanks Erik for lifting him up, off his feet now – if anyone were to look, it’d seem as though just one person occupied their stall.  
  
The sound of pissing fills the bathroom, and Charles lets his eyes close. One of Erik’s hands still rests on his groin, but Erik soon moves it, the hand travelling upwards to slip underneath Charles’ suit jacket, index fingers skimming lightly over a sensitive nipple and Charles’ nostrils flare, his eyes dilating as Erik looks at him with no intention other than desire.  
  
The third man clears his throat, and Charles catches the smell of urinal cake, even as Erik thumbs Charles’ nipple. A shiver makes its way down Charles’ spine and he can’t help but bite down on Erik’s hand to keep himself from gasping; he takes the inside of two knuckles into his mouth and Charles thinks that Erik pushes his hand even further into Charles’ mouth –  
  
The sound of the faucet running fills the bathroom once more. Erik begins to move, slowly, silently, without so much as a rasp of his pants brushing against Charles’ belt, gently gyrating against Charles’ belly, against his sensitive cock, and every movement sends a tendril of delicious pleasure down his legs, into his toes.  
  
Charles’ fingers curl like claws around Erik’s tie and he clamps down tighter with his jaw, bites Erik’s hand so hard he thinks he can taste the tang of blood as Erik refuses to let up, continues pinching and palpating Charles’ nipple, staring at Charles all the while. The adrenal medulla pumps out adrenaline, Charles remembers, in a fight-or-flight response, glycogen broken down to glucose, increased blood pressure, increased breathing rate, change in blood flow patterns, leading to increased alertness –  
  
And Charles’ train of thought derails, flies off the tracks when finally, finally, the third man pushes the bathroom door open and it feels like infinity hangs in the balance while Charles’ ears strain to hear the door closing, listen for that final swish –  
  
The door shuts.  
  
Charles groans lowly when Erik kneads his nipple one last time, wanders down to clench at Charles’ bum. “God, Charles, I wanted to fuck you right here,” Erik murmurs, and Charles can’t think when Erik squeezes his ass like that – “Wanted to rip your pants open and fuck you against this stall; do you think you could’ve kept quiet for me, huh? You have _no idea_ – ”  
  
And Charles whimpers, the sound still muffled by Erik’s hand.  
  
Erik kisses Charles’ neck one last time, before letting his grip on Charles’ slacken. Charles almost falls to the floor, knees crumpling beneath him. “Easy,” Erik mutters and Charles can’t understand how he can be so calm when –  
  
“Did you,” Charles pants, clutches onto Erik’s forearms for support, “Did you come?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Erik mutters, reaches out to undo the lock and Charles breathes raggedly as they spill out of the stall. He glances at himself at the mirror, grateful that his hair isn’t too disheveled. However, his blush spreads down his neck, under his collar.  
  
Erik looks impeccable, save for the bite mark on his hand.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Charles can’t help himself, “Did I – ”  
  
At this point, Erik ignores him, and Charles lets his gaze flit over Erik’s groin, skimming over the uncreased material of his pants there. When his eyes drag back upwards, he notices, “Your tie’s wrinkled.”  
  
“So’s yours,” Erik rasps, and Charles scoffs, “As if anyone would care. You, however,” Charles quickly undoes Erik’s knot, yanks down once, firmly, to remove the tie and Charles winds it around four fingers, smooths it out before tucking it into his pocket.  
  
Charles expects Erik to protest, but instead, Erik tugs at Charles’ tie once more, palming down Charles’ lapels.  
  
“You look good,” Erik says finally, and Charles feels a bit of the heat return to his face as Erik blatantly steps back to rake his gaze over Charles. Erik makes a sound of approval and Charles’ heart stutters. “Splash some cold water on your face,” comments Erik, and he brushes the back of his hand across Charles’ cheek, eyes soft, before leaving the bathroom, looking implausibly put-together.  
  
Charles lingers in the bathroom for a moment more, snatches some toilet paper to hastily stick into his pants, splashes cold water on his face. As he leaves the bathroom a few minutes later, he feels impossibly lighter, as if a heavy weight were lifted from his shoulders.  
  
When he makes his way back to the table, the old man is still droning on, and Charles slides into his seat easily.  
  
“What took you so long,” Raven hisses from his right.  
  
“If I went to the bathroom,” Darwin murmurs dryly from across the table, “I would’ve stayed there until the speech was over.”  
  
Someone shushes them from another table and Charles grins, leans back in his seat without a care in the world, watches the old man at the podium speak in a drawling monotone.  
  
Needless to say, Charles doesn’t really listen. Instead, he watches Sean attempting to communicate to Alex, across the two tables, in a crude sign language, can’t help a snort when Sean makes a particularly lewd gesture.  
  
Charles thinks he hears Devina muttering behind him, but can’t bring himself to care, smiles easily as Raven taps out a pattern onto the tablecloth, nodding her head to the beat of the man’s speech.  
  
Sean lets out a low whoop when the man ultimately concludes his announcement, much to the chagrin of a glaring middle-aged couple two tables over. Darwin says lowly, “I think it’s time for the drinks.”  
  
“This is the good part,” Raven leans in to whisper to Charles, “All the old people leave and we get the whole floor to ourselves.”  
  
Snorting, Hank mutters something about martinis and, true to Raven’s word, slowly but surely, the floor begins to empty, about a quarter of the room heading towards the elevator and mingling around there, congregating in a mass of middle-aged workers with glasses of wine in hand.  
  
“Time to hit the bar,” Raven flashes a devious smile, all but sprints to the drink table Angel stands nearby, grinning as she stirs a pink drink.  
  
“Kudos to McTaggert,” Hank mumbles, as he and Charles follow Raven and Sean, albeit much slower.  
  
The lights dim slowly but surely, and soon the entire floor is soaked in a dark-blue light, blurring everyone’s features.  
  
“So,” Charles leans in to Hank, as they amble towards the drinks table. “What time does the party end?”  
  
“Moira’s in charge, so whenever she leaves. Although,” Hank nods towards where Raven and Moira have gathered, cheering as Angel downs the pink drink. “I don’t think it’ll be anytime soon.” And at this, Charles lets out a loud string of laughter.  
  
As the more aged employees of X-Trusion begin trickling out, Raven and her entourage become increasingly boisterous, and suddenly, Charles feels as though he’s been transported to one of Raven and Angel’s get-togethers.  
  
Darwin laughs from where he stands by Charles, the two of them leaning against a stand-up table. Alex grins from where he stands by the podium, bowing mockingly as he finishes a rather accurate imitation of Mr. Mehigan.  
  
“Get down from there, Summers,” Erik calls out from somewhere across the floor, where he sits, engrossed in conversation with Helen and another, younger department head. Apparently, not engrossed enough to miss the way that Alex grins mischievously as he jumps off the stage.  
  
“Lucky for us that McTaggert’s on board with all of this,” Darwin smirks, waving his cup around to encompass the remainder of the holiday party. Across the floor from Helen, Erik, and the other young department head, Charles and Darwin stand among a few other chattering employees by the stand-up tables, next to the dance floor where Angel and Raven sway to and fro to the pounding bass.  
  
Other than that, the floor has mostly emptied, leaving behind a sea of vacant dinner tables and abandoned cups.  
  
“Imagine if she weren’t,” Charles chuckles, shakes his head fondly.  
  
“Was that good or what?” Alex demands, holding his hands out triumphantly as he crosses the floor, heads over to Darwin and Charles.  
  
“Outstanding,” Charles raises his cup to Alex, drains it.  
  
Darwin smiles at Alex and Charles leaves the two of them, wanders over to the vacant drink table. He grimaces as he sees the sticky bottles of champagne, when he hears a low – almost seductive – “Can I get you a drink?”  
  
Charles whirls around, heart thumping as he sees Erik stroll up to the table, hands tucked into his pockets. A quick glance around assures Charles that the closest people are Raven and Angel, well out of earshot.  
  
“Are you planning to take me home afterwards?” Charles retorts, without any finesse, eyes the wine speculatively.  
  
Erik chuckles. “What’s your poison?” Erik leans close under the pretense of snatching an unopened bottle of bourbon, hand coming around to brush at the small of Charles’ back and Charles fucking shivers.  
  
“Anything but the bourbon,” Charles says, clenches his fists to fight a sigh when Erik removes his hand from Charles’ back. When Charles turns to look at Erik, the man’s mouth curves into a dangerous smile and Charles belatedly realizes that Erik has removed his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. Charles’ mouth waters.  
  
Slowly, Erik pours himself a tumbler full of bourbon. He lifts it to his lips unhurriedly, watching Charles all the while, and Charles thinks he feels his cock twitch in arousal. Erik drinks and Charles’ throat clumps as Erik swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly.  
  
“Too bad.” Erik’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip – and that is definitely Charles’ prick twitching – and Erik sets down the bottle, runs a casual hand through his hair. Charles thinks he’s never been more attracted to the man than now. Erik raises his tumbler in Charles’ direction, “Maybe another time,” turns easily and strolls back across the floor.  
  
“Fuck,” Charles breathes out, grabs the bourbon and pours himself a generous amount.  
  
Someone has a chosen a rather suggestive song by the time Charles wanders back to the stand up tables. Raven has taken Darwin and Alex’s place, seeing as the two of them have joined Angel and Sean on the dance floor, blurring into a haze of vague figures.  
  
“What just happened there?” Raven inquires as Charles plops his tumbler on the table.  
  
“I’m not quite sure,” Charles admits honestly.  
  
Raven snorts, throws her hair back over her shoulder. “They’ve dragged Hank out to the dance floor.”  
  
Charles chuckles amiably. “And why aren’t you with them?”  
  
Raven steals a sip from Charles’ tumbler. “I didn’t want to leave you alone,” she sighs. Charles doesn’t know what to say to that.  
  
They watch the dance floor for a while, Raven snorting amusedly as she sees Hank stumbling over his own feet.  
  
“You know,” she says off-handedly, doesn’t look at Charles, “I sort of expected you to be out there, pulling a beer bong out of your pocket.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
Raven glares at him. “Don’t tell me you didn’t have any of that at Oxford.”  
  
Charles shakes his head. He doesn’t attempt to deny anything.  
  
“I hope you’re happy here, Charles,” she breathes out a while later, watches Hank attempt a jerky dance move.  
  
Charles offers her a tight smile. “You should go dance,” he says. “Go on, I’ll be fine.”  
  
And Charles falls quiet once more, content to watch Raven join her companions, the lot of them yelling incoherently over the loud music.  
  
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Helen comes up behind Charles, leans against the table casually.  
  
Charles glances her. “They’re having fun,” he juts a chin out, in the direction of the dance floor.  
  
“I agree.”  
  
Helen remains silent for a moment, expression pensive. “Charles,” she begins, and Charles feels his stomach turn. “Whatever you’re doing with Erik – ”  
  
Charles protests before she can even finish. “Helen, you know it’s not – ”  
  
She looks at him with such a knowing gaze that Charles forces himself to stop speaking. “He didn’t say anything,” she says, looking across the room.  
  
“How – ”  
  
“I could tell,” she interrupts easily, and Charles notices that she is rather pretty. Then she continues, “Whatever you’re doing with him, just make sure you consider the consequences.”  
  
Charles swallows with difficulty and Helen places a hand on his shoulder. “You know, he tends to put work before anything.”  
  
Exhaling unevenly, Charles manages, “I know.”  
  
“Do you?” She looks at him. “He’s happier now,” she says matter-of-factly. “I don’t know what you’ve done to him,” she smirks and Charles tries to smile. “But you’re good for him.” Her eyes soften once more. “You’re good for each other and I know you, Charles.” Her lips quirk. “If anyone can pull us through this, it’s you.”  
  
“Do you really think that?” Charles has to look up at her.  
  
She smiles lightly, turning away to watch Alex and Darwin dancing drunkenly.  
  
From across the room, someone laughs daintily and Charles sways a bit, takes another swing of his drink.  
  
The room starts to blur into a pleasant mix of blue lights and low music when Charles finally rasps, “Helen?”  
  
She turns her head expectantly. “Yes?”  
  
“I don’t  – ” Charles struggles for a moment, “Am I doing the right thing?” he can’t help but ask, his eyes wide and forlorn, “It’s just that, I’ve never doubted myself before, but – ”  
  
She sighs, soft and low, doesn’t look at him when she murmurs, “Just be careful, is all. There’s a lot of people here who’d like to see him fall.”  
  
Charles sighs, then decidedly chugs the rest of his drink. “Tell Raven I’m heading out. I’m sorry for leaving early.”  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“Home,” Charles sets the glass down, turns on his heels sharply.  
  
“You shouldn’t be driving,” Helen calls out after him and Charles waves her away easily. “I called an Uber.”  
  
-  
  
For some reason, the next morning Charles wakes in the suit he wore yesterday, collapsed on his couch with no recollection of how he got there.  
  
“Mhmph,” he says, sleepily.  
  
He sits there for a moment, blinking groggily when his phone dings with a text message.  
  
Ignoring his muscles groaning in protest, Charles stretches over to snatch his phone from the coffee table. There’s a message waiting from an unknown number.  
  
_you left your wallet on the table last night,_ he reads.  
  
Charles’ left hand flies to his suit pocket, and sure enough, there’s an oddly shaped space where his wallet usually rests.  
  
_Thank you_ , he sends. And then, _Who is this?_  
  
Charles expects Moira, or perhaps Darwin.  
  
_erik_ , he gets instead and Charles’ throat dries. His brain struggles to keep up with this realization, and his thumbs are hovering over the screen as he mentally struggles to form a reply that would remain within their extremely vague boundaries.  
  
The next text message comes before Charles has a chance to reply.  
  
_are you busy_ _  
_ _  
_ No capitalization, no punctuation. How bland and how typical of Erik.  
  
_No._  
  
_i’m home,_ Erik sends a minute later, _you can come over and pick it up if you’d like_ _  
_ _  
_ Charles is rising from the couch before he even finishes reading the text, attempting to straighten his clothes, comb through his hair with his fingers to get the unruly mess to lie straight.  
  
_the door is open just let yourself in_ , Charles gets from Erik a few minutes after that, as he rinses his mouth of the bitter taste of alcohol, splashes cold water on his face. Charles doesn’t bother changing out of his suit; it looks reasonably not wrinkly and Charles just sprays a bit of cologne on before striding out of the house.  
  
The sun beats down relentlessly as Charles peels out of his driveway, the material of the seat in Charles’ car already hot underneath him.  
  
He stands on Erik’s doorstep what feels like a moment after that, hand hovering over the door knob. “Pull yourself together, Xavier,” he mutters to himself.  
  
The door swings open without a sound. From the hallway, Charles hears Erik speaking lowly, his deep voice carrying throughout the house. Charles shuts the door easily behind him, locks it with a loud click. Wandering down the hallway, Charles follows the sound of Erik’s voice, head rolling back to look at the skylights illuminating the house.  
  
Erik’s on the phone, in his office, sitting in his black leather swivel chair. When he sees Charles deliberating in the hallway, Erik waves him in without so much as a glance, gesturing towards the black sofa across from Erik’s desk.  
  
“I’m telling you now, as your colleague, that you should reconsider your actions. You know as well as I do how Mehigan will feel if he finds out what Jennings has done.”  
  
Charles pads into the room, sinks slowly into the sofa and remembers vividly the last time he’d sat here. Charles swallows.  
  
Erik sighs exasperatedly, propping an elbow onto the arm of his chair, and putting his chin on his fist. “John, no, no, of course she would.” This morning Erik dons a black pair of trousers, a tight-fitting gray cotton shirt, no shoes.  
  
Charles gazes around the office space, takes in the neat bookshelf that he hadn’t seen before. The shelf is stacked with books, in German as well as English, about a variety of topics, from business and finance to what Charles thinks is a bibliography of Mozart.  
  
Charles jerks back instinctively as something square lands in his lap. Blinking, Charles realizes that it’s his wallet, and Erik tossed it expertly at him. Charles looks up.  
  
Erik watches him, meets his gaze steadily as he says, “John, I don’t want to tell you again. Just finish the paper, submit it, and wait for McTaggert to approve it.” Erik sighs, looking away in frustration. Eventually, when he hangs up, Erik runs a hand over his face tiredly.  
  
“Was that McCone?”  
  
Erik nods once, curtly.  
  
“You seem stressed,” says Charles eventually.  
  
Erik quirks an eyebrow at that. “And is this you, offering a solution to that?”  
  
Charles feels his face redden.  
  
Erik sighs once more, leaning back in his seat. Never once does he look away from Charles.  
  
It feels as though Erik is looking through his eyes, inside of him, examining every each neuron inside his skull. Charles can feel his hands sweating. Almost without realizing it, Charles’ tongue darts out to moisten his lips.  
  
“What do you want from me, Xavier,” asks Erik a moment later, and his eyes are half-lidded, gaze expectant.  
  
A series of images flash through Charles’ mind: Erik, tugging on Charles’ tie; Erik, snapping out Charles’ name in the middle of the meeting; Erik, hushing and crooning Charles into silence in a dark bathroom.  
  
“Can you,” Charles’ voice breaks, and he feels as though he’s laying out every bit of himself bare on the ground for Erik to see, to examine. “I – Can you tell me  – ”  
  
“What do you want,” rasps Erik. “Tell me what you want.”  
  
And Charles bites his lip, feels something indescribable swell in his chest. “Don’t – ” he says, looks away from Erik’s intense gaze, turns his head. “Don’t make me say it, Erik. You know – ”  
  
“Do you want me to tell you want to do, Charles? Would you like that?” and Erik’s voice remains impossibly low and rough.  
  
Charles’ head jerks in a convulsive nod and he hears Erik exhales shakily.  
  
For a moment, neither of them say anything. And then, “Stand up,” Erik says.  
  
Suppressing a shudder, Charles stands, the material of his pants falling back down over his ankles. Charles feels his groin heating.  
  
“Take off the jacket and your shirt,” Erik says, lowly, his pupils blown. “Put them on the couch.”  
  
Charles’ fingers dart up to pop the button, shrugs out of the suit jacket and tosses it onto the couch. He undoes his tie, unbuttons his dress shirt shakily, and they soon follow the jacket. Charles feels his nipples tighten underneath Erik’s heated gaze.  
  
“The pants,” says Erik, then presses the back of his hand against his mouth.  
  
Erik’s gaze remains fixed on Charles’ hands as he deftly flicks open his belt, pushes his pants down in a fluid motion. Charles steps out from both his dress pants and his shoes, nudges them to the side, feels beads of sweat starting to form at the nape of his neck. Charles’ tongue flickers out to lick his lips once more.  
  
Erik lets out a guttural noise and then says, “Put the tie back on, around your neck.”  
  
“Fuck,” Charles breathes, can’t hide the want that cracks his voice. He reaches around to grab the tie, tugs it over his head.  
  
Erik pauses for a moment, face strained, before he clutches the arms of his chair with both hands, leans back and says, “Come here.”  
  
Charles takes a slow step forward, socks silent against the carpet, cock half-hard in his underwear.  
  
Erik swears in German lowly, his eyes blown. His legs fall apart and Erik manages to say, “God, Charles, please – ”  
  
Blood pounds in his head as Charles stops in front of the swivel chair, inches away from Erik and Charles breathes shallowly, tension tightening his shoulders, want twisting his stomach.  
  
Then Erik reaches out, mouth slightly open, grabs onto the end of Charles’ tie and _pulls_ , Charles automatically following and stepping into the spot between Erik’s spread legs. Once more, Erik pulls, and Charles’ mouth falls onto Erik’s in a bruising kiss.  
  
As Charles works his tongue into Erik’s mouth, he feels fingers tracing over his chest, nails scraping across his sternum and Charles wraps his hands around the back of Erik’s neck, pulls them closer together and nudges his tongue further into Erik’s mouth.  
  
Their kiss quickly turns filthy, something with spit and tongue and desperation. Erik moans into Charles’ mouth as Charles lurches forward, bends further over the desk chair, pushes the chair back until it thuds against the office desk. As Charles moves, his mouth slips, sliding to press against the corner of Erik’s lips and Charles feels the saliva smearing across his face.  
  
Erik doesn’t seem to mind, takes Charles’ bottom lip eagerly between his front teeth and Charles feels a hand run down his neck, scraping over his back. Then Erik nudges a foot in between Charles’ legs; Charles shifts to move his feet further apart and Erik’s hand trails over the small of Charles’ back, dips under Charles’ boxers into the crease of his ass. Charles takes Erik’s top lip into his mouth, runs his tongue over it sloppily.  
  
Groaning, Erik pulls away and Charles lets his eyes slide open just in time to see a strand of saliva connecting their mouths. Their eyes lock and Erik’s eyes are burning with intensity as he slowly removes his right hand from Charles’ ass – the other still tight around Charles’ tie – brings it up and slides two fingers _into his mouth._ “Fuck,” Charles mumbles, thoughts hazy with lust. His cock strains at his zipper, but Charles pay it no mind. Instead, he says to Erik, “You’re so fucking attractive, you know that?”  
  
In answer, Erik pulls his hand from his mouth with a wet sound, one strand of spittle still clinging to his fingers. With the other hand, Erik releases Charles’ tie, yanks down Charles’ boxers and Charles plants a knee on the swivel chair, snug next to Erik’s thigh, as the man reaches down with his wet fingers to nudge at Charles’ entrance.  
  
And Charles gasps, mouth falling open as he lunges forward, burying his face into the crook of Erik’s neck, inhaling the strong smell of his cologne there, but moreover, the overpowering scent of _Erik_ –  
  
Erik’s initial finger slides right in, cool and wet against Charles’ insides. Charles feels Erik’s mouth press his temple, soft and wet and Charles lets out a subdued moan when another digit joins the first. Erik works him for a moment, fingers loosening the tight ring of muscle there.  
  
“There’s lube,” Charles manages to collect himself enough to speak, “And condoms in my pocket – of my suit jacket, I – ”  
  
“Fetch that for me, will you?” Erik murmurs and Charles shudders as Erik withdraws his fingers from Charles, pushes Charles up gently.  
  
The room feels cool as he walks across the floor to snatch up the aforementioned contraceptives, in sharp juxtaposition to the heat of Erik’s body. When he turns around, Charles’ throat dries as he sees Erik leaning forward in his chair, forearms planted on his knees, hunched over where Charles can see the faint outline of an erection.  
  
Charles walks slowly towards Erik, revels in the desire that thrums through his veins, lacing his every thought. He feels his cock bobbing between his legs as he comes close to Erik.  
  
“Against the table,” Erik says, his eyes smoldering, voice hoarse.  
  
Charles complies eagerly, leans back against the desk next to Erik’s chair. Erik rises shakily from his seat, tugs off his cotton shirt, shucks off his joggers.  
  
Charles scoots back against the desk, almost perching on the lip, watches as Erik tears open the packet of lube, then lets his thighs slacken, fall apart without a single word from Erik.  
  
Erik steps in between Charles’ legs, slides two slick fingers back into Charles. Charles’ body eagerly accepts them, and Charles groans as a third finger dips in to join the two others. Leaning in, Erik murmurs, “Did you see the way Bianca looked at you yesterday?”  
  
Charles pants when Erik stretches the ring of Charles’ hole, fingers splaying out to stretch the muscle. “What?” he croaks, voice strangling, brain struggling to keep up.  
  
“Bianca,” Erik mutters, wraps a hand around the back of Charles’ head, thumb pressing into the nape of Charles’ neck. “Bianca Podlipsky, looked at you and I wanted to bend you over, right then and there, over those stupid white tables and fuck you senseless, show her that you’re _mine_ .”  
  
And Charles chokes at that image, clenches his ass on Erik’s fingers reflexively and says, “You can bend me over your desk now – I think I’d enjoy that – ”  
  
The words are barely out of Charles’ mouth before Erik spins him around, hands like vices on Charles’ waist. Charles lets out a surprised huff, palms slamming onto the face of the desk.  
  
“Do you know how much I’ve thought about this,” Erik pants, fingers slipping from Charles’ ass. The sound of crinkling plastic fills the air. “Thought about bending you over your desk whenever you’re being cheeky.”  
  
A sharp groan rips its way out of Charles’ throat when he feels the head of Erik’s cock sliding easily into him. “Please,” he gasps, “Erik, give it to me, I – ”  
  
Erik’s hips snap cleanly, without hesitation, the entirety of his wide cock slamming deep into Charles and for a second, Charles can’t breathe, Erik’s cock filling every inch of him.  
  
“Erik,” he whimpers, and then that’s it, as if Charles had cut some rope holding Erik back –  
  
Erik pounds relentlessly, and the salacious sound of balls slapping flesh fills the air as Erik fucks him into the table, Charles’ entire chest pressed against the desk, his cock sliding along the smooth underside of the table with every one of Erik’s thrusts and Charles gasps wantonly, eyes fluttering shut, toes curling in his socks –  
  
“Oh Christ, Erik,” Charles hears himself say, “Please, I need you so bad – ” and the rest is lost in incoherent babbling as Erik fucking _snarls_ , hands curling around Charles’ waist. Sweat drips down his spine, dried saliva smears his chin, his thighs are spread unbelievably wide as Erik thrusts mercilessly.  
  
Charles hears a soft grunt from behind him with every one of Erik’s thrusts, accompanied by a collection of Charles’ lewd moans, joining the obscene sound of flesh slapping flesh. Charles thinks he can hear the table creaking and clutches the desk even harder, hangs on tightly as Erik ruthlessly pounds into him.  
  
“Can I touch myself,” Charles pants, the slight bit of friction that he gets as his cock slides against the cool underside of the table not nearly enough to abate the conflagration in his belly. “Please – ”  
  
“Please who,” Erik growls, thumbs digging bruises into Charles’ ass.  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” slips from Charles’ mouth before he can stop it and, if anything, Erik’s pace quickens, hastens steadily until Charles clings to the table, a dry sob punctuating his needy pants every once in awhile.  
  
“Yes,” breathes Erik, and Charles can barely hear it over the sound of his own panting, one hand darting down to tug at his cock. Every fiber of his body is straining, reaching for that release, eyes squeezed shut, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip, one hand pumping furiously at his erection.  
  
Erik lets out a choked sound, his fingers tightening, before thrusting one last time, coming with a dry groan in the shape of Charles’ name. Erik’s body slackens around Charles, hips thrusting shallowly once more before Erik slips out, breathing heavily all the while.  
  
Charles comes swiftly after that, slumping over the table in a rush, his mind coming to a stuttering halt as he releases, his mind sinking into bliss. His knees quiver and Charles slides to the floor in an undignified manner.  
  
“Jesus, Charles,” Erik mumbles and Charles tugs on his hand until the man relents and folds onto the floor next to him.  
  
“That,” pants Charles, “Was unbelievably hot.”  
  
Erik snorts, lets his head slump back against the swivel chair behind him.  
  
“No, seriously,” Charles breathes heavily.  
  
“You had condoms in your pocket,” Erik remarks. Charles thinks that his hair looks remarkably sexy when it’s disheveled.  
  
“I was hopeful,” Charles says. “And the raging libido is another thing too.”  
  
Erik looks at him through half-lidded eyes, very blatantly raking up and down Charles’ pale body. Charles opens his mouth to say something about testing his refractory when a loud ringing sound fills the air.  
  
Charles glances at his phone, which lies a little ways away on the couch. “That’s you.”  
  
Groaning softly, Erik reaches up to fumble for his phone. He squints at the screen.  
  
“You should take it,” Charles says. Belatedly, Charles realizes that he’s still wearing his socks.  
  
Erik rasps, “You sure?”  
  
Reaching down to tug off his socks, Charles nods. “Yeah. Mind if I rummage through your kitchen?”  
  
Erik lets out a snort. “Go ahead.”  
  
Charles grins, gives Erik a mock-salute as he reaches out and grabs his boxers, yanks them on just as Erik accepts the call. “Hello?”  
  
The laminated wood of Erik’s home is cool underneath Charles’ bare feet. He pads into the kitchen, scratching idly at his belly, pulls open the freezer.  
  
Ten minutes later, Charles looks up to see Erik stepping into the kitchen, joggers low on his waist, one hand cupped over the phone plastered to his ear. He raises an eyebrow.  
  
Pulling the spoon from his mouth, Charles says, “I hope you don’t mind. Rocky road’s my favorite flavor.”  
  
At this, Erik shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”  
  
“Mhm.” Charles tosses the spoon into the sink, swings open the freezer door to pop the ice cream back inside.  
  
“Yes, I’m still here,” Erik says to his phone, walks over to where Charles stands by the countertop, leaning over to look at his phone. With his index finger, Charles scrolls through the news.  
  
“I told you already, he won’t move the deadline.”  
  
Charles feels a light tap on his right hipbone. After he turns his head over his shoulder, he sees Erik watching him through lidded eyes. With his index finger, Erik makes a ‘turn-around’ motion, spins his finger once.  
  
“No, he wouldn’t,” Erik says impassively.  
  
Charles’ throat dries. He swallows shakily, turns around to face Erik and instinctively leans back against the countertop behind him. The black granite tabletop digs into his spine, right between T4 and T5.  
  
Erik makes a sound of affirmation, eyes skimming over Charles’ chest. He reaches out with one hand to trail his fingers down Charles’ chest idly.  
  
“Fine,” says Erik. He pulls the phone away from his ear and places it on the counter, the muscles in his chest and stomach clenching as he steps forward to kiss Charles, long and slow.  
  
An eager noise escapes Charles’ throat, and he has to step back to accommodate Erik, as the man crowds Charles against the countertop, hands planting themselves on Charles’ waist. Charles’ breath catches when Erik runs the tip of his tongue against his bottom lip in question, and Charles lets Erik into his mouth, wet and slick and willing.  
  
The skin of Erik’s chest is warm against Charles, as the former drapes himself over Charles, pulling their bodies together. Charles lets his eyes flutter shut belatedly, forgets the rest of the world as Erik kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.  
  
He hears a soft grunt when Erik pulls back. Since Erik stands so close, Charles has to tilt his head up to see Erik looking at him with his eyebrows furrowed, like he can’t remember how he got so close to Charles. And Charles balls his hands into fists on Erik’s chest, ignore the pang in his chest and leans forward on the tips of his toes to kiss Erik again, small and tentative.  
  
Other than his lips parting slightly at Charles’ touch, Erik remains impossibly still, his hands like loose parentheses around Charles’ waist.  
  
Reluctantly, Charles pulls back. “What are you thinking about,” he rasps, voice low.  
  
Erik exhales. His breath is warm against Charles’ mouth and his eyes are lidded when he says, “You.”  
  
Erik’s hands smooth over Charles’ back, arms wrapping around Charles’ torso to tug him close in an intimate hug. Erik buries his face into the crook of Charles’ neck, and Charles reaches up uncertainly to cup his hands around the back of Erik’s head, pressing down on his hair.  
  
“God, Charles,” Erik murmurs. His soft voice makes Charles shiver.  
  
As Erik’s arms slacken around Charles’ waist, the other man pulls back. Automatically, Charles reaches up with a thumb to smooth the creases between Erik’s eyebrows.  
  
“There are so many reasons,” Erik’s voice is hoarse, “Why we shouldn’t do this.”  
  
Charles fights to keep his voice steady. “And yet, I still want you and you still want me.”  
  
When Erik doesn’t reply, Charles says shakily, “I already told you, I wouldn’t say anything to anyone.”  
  
Erik jerks his head, as if involuntarily, pulls back his arms and steps away from Charles in an aborted motion, as if he wants to walk out of the kitchen. Cool air rushes in to take his place against Charles’ body.  
  
Charles chokes out, “You can’t just say that and not expect me to talk about it.”  
  
“What is there to talk about,” Erik says and his impassive expression returns – Charles realizes right then that he fucking hates it.  
  
“What is there – ” Charles breaks off with a splutter of disbelief.  
  
Erik clenches his jaw, starts turning around to head toward the door. He says to Charles, “You always think you have the answer to everything, don’t you, Charles? You always think that you’re right.”  
  
“And?” Charles bristles, feels his skin flooding with heat, “What’s wrong with that?”  
  
“I don’t want a solution for this – ” Erik waves a hand in between them, still facing away from Charles, “ – this _problem_ ; I want it eradicated.”  
  
Something releases in Charles’ chest; he feels his stomach drop, heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he can’t do anything but gape, unable to formulate a response.  
  
Erik takes advantage of his silence. “Get out,” he rasps, halts in front of the back of the couch, props his forearms onto it, buries his head in his hands so that Charles can’t see his face. “Get out.”  
  
Charles _seethes_ , acid and vitriol bubbling in his throat. “You don’t – ”  
  
“I said, get out, Xavier,” Erik snarls and Charles bites down on his tongue, whirls around to snatch up his phone.  
  
“I’ll just let myself out then,” Charles snaps. His bones feel brittle and thin, as if one wrong word would shatter them into a million pieces and Charles doesn’t trust himself to look at Erik, simply strides out of the kitchen, fuming all the while, into the office to angrily yank on his clothes.  
  
The world seems to blur around him but Charles refuses to ascribe his muddled vision to tears.  
  
“Don’t think I’m giving up so easily,” Charles says bitterly behind him, lets himself out of Erik’s house, suit jacket rumpled in his arms.  
  
Silence answers him, and the door shuts with a resounding slam.  
  
-  
  
X-Trusion’s lobby is mostly empty the following Monday morning, as Charles comes in to work early. He strolls leisurely through the vestibule, feels oddly at peace with himself when he walks into a half-full elevator. He pushes the button for the third floor for himself.  
  
“Devina,” he raps on her door, pokes his head in to see her cradling a mug of coffee.  
  
“You’re early,” she comments dryly and inwardly, Charles winces, hoping that she still isn’t bitter about the conference.  
  
“Is Er – is Mr. Lehnsherr in yet?” Charles catches himself at the last second.  
  
Devina glances up. “No.” She glances at the clock. “He won’t be in for another half-hour. Did you want me to ask him to drop by your office when he arrives?”  
  
Charles shakes his head, “Oh, no, thank you. I’ll come see him later.”  
  
She’s already turning back to her computer when Charles says his farewells, heads down the hallway.  
  
“Morning,” Angel strolls out from behind a corner. When she sees Charles, she slows down to walk beside him. “You have a good weekend?”  
  
Charles thinks of the party on Friday, his disastrous conversation with Erik on Saturday. By the time Sunday afternoon had rolled around, Charles was waking with a hangover.  
  
“Good,” Charles says, remembers going to Sean’s house Saturday night, meeting Darwin and Alex in an impromptu ‘brofest’ as Alex had said, drinking the other boys under the table. Charles snorts into his head, turns it into a rough cough, at the memory, mentally thinks to Raven, _told you I still have it_. “Yours?”  
  
Angel shrugs. “Good enough. Take it easy, alright Xavier? You look exhausted.”  
  
“Sure,” he shakes his head easily, waves at Angel before ducking into his office.  
  
He’s working on his office, scribbling over one of Hank’s papers when the door creaks open.  
  
Charles looks up.  
  
Helen walks in, closes the door behind her and Charles watches her when she locks the door decisively, turns around with an unamused expression.  
  
“You know how I said I was worried about you getting hurt by him?” she begins without any hesitation, hands crossed over her chest.  
  
Charles nods, doesn’t have to ask who she is referring to.  
  
“I take it back.”  
  
Charles blinks.  
  
“What did you say to him, Charles.”  
  
“What did he say to you? To make you come in here and ask me about it?” Charles counters, looks down to cross out a run-on sentence.  
  
“What did he – Charles, he didn’t say anything, you know how he is. He just ignored everyone’s calls yesterday, we were supposed to meet with Frost for a meeting and he didn’t even show up! Do you know the last time he missed a meeting?”  
  
“Well,” Charles staples the papers together, “I have only been here for four months.”  
  
Helen makes an irritated noise. “You two are impossible.”  
  
Charles says, “Sorry.”  
  
Snorting, Helen says, “No, you aren’t. Just fix it, Charles, whatever you did.”  
  
“It wasn’t me!” Charles splutters but Helen waves a hand, looks at him expectantly.  
  
“I’ll try,” he says, and she sighs, leaves without another word.  
  
-  
  
“Coming for lunch?” Alex sticks his head into Charles’ office and Charles shakes his head regretfully.  
  
“Not today, Alex. Tell Darwin I’ll come next time,” he smiles and Alex snorts in answer.  
  
When most of the department has disappeared inside their offices, or gone off to buy lunch, Charles leaves his office slowly, forces his heart to calm as he walks down the hall.  
  
Charles knocks only once before Erik says, “Come in.”  
  
“Xavier,” Erik says coolly, barely glances at Charles.  
  
“No,” Charles says, shuts the door firmly behind him, leans back against it.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
And while Charles had felt so unaffected in front of Helen, just the sight of Erik makes his stomach lurch. “I said no,” Charles repeats, “You don’t get to do this to me.”  
  
Erik looks pained when he murmurs lowly, “I don’t think you understood what I said on Saturday, Xavier.”  
  
Charles fights to keep his voice even when he replies, “You called this – ” he waves a vague hand, “A problem, and I – ”  
  
“Get out, Xavier,” Erik says, very lowly, a muscle in his temple twitching.  
  
“No,” Charles plants his hands on the door behind him, like an anchor, “No, you don’t get to fucking run away from your problems like this – ”  
  
“Xavier,” Charles thinks he hears Erik say, but he can’t be sure, not when his heart rams a hole in his chest, blood pulsing in his eardrums –  
  
“You’re a coward,” Charles says, almost unbelievingly, shakes his head and steadies himself against the cool door. At this, Erik finally looks up, his face twisted.  
  
“What, for running away from my problems? Don’t tell me that isn’t what you did when you left Raven.”  
  
Charles can’t respond; his jaw drops and his brain is whirling, thoughts muddled into _how dare he_ , and _Jesus Christ, he’s right_ –  
  
“You’re a hypocrite, Charles,” Erik says, and Charles watches, dumbfounded, as Erik rises from his seat, strides across the room and as Erik approaches him, Charles is too flustered to do anything other than move out of his way.  
  
“Where,” Charles splutters, “Where are you going?” as Erik opens the door.  
  
“Board meeting,” Erik says. As the door swings open, Erik looks immaculately put-together.  
  
And Charles growls in frustration, finally collects himself enough to jog down the hall after Erik. He ignores Devina’s inquisitive, “Charles?” that carries out of her office, runs down the hallway and sticks his foot into the elevator before it can close.  
  
“Oh!” a female voice says. “Hello Charles.”  
  
The elevator slides open again to reveal Erik and Moira, the latter turned towards the former. Moira smiles. “Just who we were talking about.”  
  
“I – ” Charles frowns, the words in his mouth dying on his lips.  
  
“I was just telling Erik that he could take you to the board meeting again! Your notes really were wonderful last time, and,” she trails off, looks innocently at Erik.  
  
Charles clamps his jaw down.  
  
Erik doesn’t look at anyone when the elevator shuts, simply presses the one button.  
  
Charles doesn’t see anyway of saying no. “Of course,” Charles turns to Moira, smiles tightly, ignores the irritation stewing in his belly.  
  
“Lovely,” says Moira, cheerfully, gets off as the elevator stops at the second floor.  
  
Charles follows Erik hastily through the sunlit lobby, striding into the parking lot.  
  
As soon as Charles closes the passenger door of the Bentley, Erik is revving out of the parking lot, tires squealing as he pulls away from X-Trusion.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Erik,” Charles yelps, grabs onto the door handle as Erik makes a particularly tight turn.  
  
“You know, at least I finish my conversations before walking out on the other person,” Charles can’t help but snap.  
  
Erik remains silent; Charles can feel him fuming inwardly, the tension in the car thick and palpable.  
  
Charles watches the cars speed by on the highway, rushing by in an inexorable stream. He taps his fingers on the glass, tells himself to wait for Erik to speak.  
  
Sunlight reflects glaringly off of the Bentley’s dashboard, and Charles is yanking down the sun visor when Erik says, so lowly that Charles can barely hear him, “You shouldn’t want me.”  
  
Charles can’t help but let out a derisive snort at that. “I think I can decide that for myself, thank you.”  
  
“I’m being serious, Charles,” Erik growls.  
  
“Do you think I don’t understand?” Charles explodes, leaning forward in his seat, “Do you think I not care? God, Erik, I – ” he breaks off quickly after hearing the emotion cracking his voice and Charles sits back into his seat, heart racing.  
  
“There’s more to this than you’ll ever know,” Erik mutters, as he pulls into the parking lot of the hotel.  
  
“Then help me understand!” Charles insists, can’t stop the desperation from leaking into his voice. “Erik, I want to understand!”  
  
After pulling into a parking lot a little ways from the hotel, Erik shuts off the engine. A deafening silence fills the car.  
  
For a minute, as Charles watches Erik, imploring him silently, Charles thinks that Erik will explain – the entire car waits in silent anticipation and Charles tells himself _don’t force him to explain don’t push let him_ – Erik’s lips part for a second and Charles mentally wills him to speak –  
  
But he doesn’t. He swings open the door, lets warm air waft inside and Charles lets out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the door slams shut. For a moment, Charles sits, feeling oddly bereft when he hears Erik rapping his knuckles on the body of the car.  
  
“Fuck,” Charles exhales, then pushes his way out of the car.  
  
As Charles follows Erik across the empty parking lot, he says quietly, ever aware of their surroundings, “Mr. Lehnsherr – ”  
  
“Moira expects your notes to be just as good as last time,” Erik cuts him off. Charles blinks dumbly when Erik holds the door open for him and thinks he feels Erik’s fingers, pressing delicately into the small of Charles’ back.  
  
“What – ”  
  
“Mr. Lehnsherr,” someone calls out and Charles strides quickly to follow Erik.  
  
The board meeting drags on, long and unproductive, save for one instance where Erik had shifted inconspicuously, his ankle brushing against Charles’ and Charles had to fake a sneeze to hide his surprise. For the entirety of the meeting, Erik had left his foot there, one spot of heat that Charles’ was ever aware of during the meeting; Erik had never met his gaze – not even once – and Charles doesn’t know how to respond to this.  
  
Regardless, Charles finds himself speaking eagerly with one of the board members after the meeting, not one to ever let an opportunity slip away.  
  
“Come on, Xavier,” Erik strolls by him after finishing a conversation with an older board members.  
  
“Right,” Charles gives the regent a smile, “I’ll see you next time Mrs. Behar.”  
  
They’re one of the first to leave the floor, and Erik holds the door for him once more as they leave the hotel.  
  
“Ingratiating yourself with the board already?” Erik says, looking away as though he hadn’t expected himself to speak; his voice is low and his lips barely move when he does but Charles catches note of humor nonetheless.    
  
He can’t help a short laugh at that, and Charles’ gut flutters when he sees Erik quirk his lips in half a smile. This is _Erik_ , Charles thinks, hidden underneath his professional demeanor, tucked away so that Charles can only get a glimpse of him now and then.  
  
Not wanting to let the good mood slip away, Charles pushes all thoughts of their earlier conversation aside. “Do you think they noticed?”  
  
“Actually not,” Erik replies easily, as they get into the Bentley, “I think they thought it was all of your overeagerness.”  
  
“Oh, I’m getting good,” Charles crows, as Erik pulls out of the parking lot.  
  
Erik rumbles in agreement and something loosens in Charles’ chest, the tension that was between them prior to the meeting deliquesced into something light and soft.  
  
Their easy banter carries throughout the car ride, melts into a comfortable lull as Erik pulls off the freeway, begins meandering through the empty streets.  
  
“Charles,” Erik begins, and Charles doesn’t even have to turn to look at him, his eyes still fixed on the sharp silhouette of Erik’s face against the sinking sun. “You have to understand – ”  
  
He breaks off uncertainly and Charles looks away suddenly, when he sees the way Erik’s muscles tighten. Charles turns his gaze out the window, tries not to hope for anything –  
  
“I’ve been working ever since I was a boy,” Erik says, haltingly and Charles bites down on his lip to keep from speaking. “And so, if I ever seem – ” Erik visibly struggles to find the correct word, Charles notices, as Charles returns to look at him, unable to resist. Erik settles on, “ _Stilted_ , it’s because I – I’ve never had – ” Erik looks vulnerable, more than Charles has ever seen before, “Something – someone – that takes precedence, over my work.”  
  
Charles’ jaw drops.  
  
“And I know this,” once more, Erik waves a vague hand, “This hasn’t been easy for you – God, Charles, but I – ” Erik breaks off, doesn’t finish his sentence but he doesn’t need to. Charles says, “Pull over.”  
  
“I – what?”  
  
“Pull over,” Charles repeats, points to the empty curb and Erik, for all of the confusion written upon his face, pulls over, shuts off the engine.  
  
As soon as the car dies, Charles lunges across the car, one hand fisting tight in Erik’s tie, smashes their mouths together and Erik makes a surprised noise. “You’re unbelievable,” Charles manages, his chest digging uncomfortably into the center console but he doesn’t care, reaches down to unbuckle his seatbelt and Erik groans when Charles shoves his tongue artlessly into Erik’s mouth and he can’t get enough, can never get enough of this man –  
  
Erik’s mouth is supple and sultry, his lips parting automatically, and Charles tightens his grip on Erik’s tie, is essentially halfway out of his seat to bury his hands in Erik’s hair. Charles is preoccupied with Erik’s tongue lavishing his own when he tries leaning forward even more, the slippery material of his pants allowing for no friction as Charles places one knee on his seat, the material sliding easily off the leather and Charles jerks away from Erik with an undignified grunt, throws one hand out to grab onto the steering wheel.  
  
Snorting with amusement, Erik pulls back, his hair tousled and tie wrinkled.  
  
“Hey,” Charles begins to protest, but Erik’s throwing the driver’s door open, clambering out and rounding around the front of the car, walking purposefully towards the passenger side. Charles swears violently then yanks on the handle that pushes the passenger seat back.  
  
The air outside rushes in as Erik opens the door. His seat clicks as Charles finishes pushing it back all the way. He barely has time to release the handle before Erik tugs on the lapels of his suit jacket. As Charles allows Erik to pull him out of the car, he swings an arm around Erik’s waist, lets the momentum propel him forward, pushing Erik against the backseat door of the Bentley with his body, soft thud filling the air as Charles crowds Erik against the car.  
  
Erik’s eyes are blazing when Charles reaches up to tug on his tie, stepping in between Erik’s legs and tugging Erik down for a fierce kiss.  
  
One of Charles’ hands tightens on Erik’s tie, the other extending upwards to cup the back of Erik’s head, angling his face down.  
  
“Charles,” Erik growls, and his voice sends a shiver down Charles’ spine; his lips brush against Charles’ slick mouth when he says, “If we don’t get into the car right now, I’ll fuck you against the windows.”  
  
And as much as that elicits a wave of want in Charles, he doesn’t feel like being arrested for indecent exposure today, so he releases Erik’s tie, pinches Erik’s hip suggestively. Charles murmurs, “Then I recommend you climb in, Mr. Lehnsherr,” carefully purring Erik’s surname.  
  
Panting, Erik steps away easily, slides into the passenger seat without a single demurral and Charles smirks, climbing in after him, yanks the door shut with a slam.  
  
The spacious Bentley allows for Charles to clamber into Erik’s lap, one knee digging into the leather next to Erik’s hip and one foot planted on the floor of the car. “I’ve always wanted to try this,” Charles comments, as he flicks open Erik’s belt.  
  
“Hopefully we won’t get chafing,” Erik grunts, as Charles drags two fingers across the head of Erik’s cock.  
  
Charles pants, “Don’t ruin this for me, Erik,” reaches down to undo his own fly and Erik extends his arm out to cup the back of Charles’ head.  
  
“I’m serious, Charles, I’ve been in your that position before,” Erik murmurs, the flick of his eyes encompassing the way Charles straddles Erik’s lap.  
  
“Yeah?” Charles pants, oddly turned on, “And how did that go?”  
  
Erik retorts, “I hit my head on the ceiling of the car,” and Charles laughs as Erik reaches down with his other hand to recline the chair. Charles scoots forward eagerly, grabs the headrest for stability as Erik reaches around him, pops open the glove box.  
  
Charles gasps when Erik wraps five slick fingers around Charles’ half-hard cock. “And you admonished me for carrying condoms in my suit?” he struggles to say.  
  
Erik chuckles darkly in reply and Charles’ mouth falls open helplessly when Erik slides the tip of his lube-slicked finger into Charles’ hole, his thumb pressing against Charles’ balls, his entire palm pressing hot against Charles’ perineum.  
  
Charles’ elbow slams against the window when he jerks back suddenly, as Erik’s wrist disappears under the waistband of Charles’ boxers, middle-finger sliding all the way into Charles and Charles’ eyes water.  
  
“I’m fine,” Charles gasps, darting forward, further into Erik’s lap, fingers clenching around the leather of the headrest before Erik can formulate his concerns.  
  
“Jesus, Charles,” Erik says, tugging down Charles’ pants, tugging down his boxers, and Charles reaches down to fumble with the condom, one elbow propped up onto the center console for support.  
  
Charles’ pants are pooling around his knees, but other than that, the two of them are fully dressed and Charles gasps in relief when Erik rolls down a window, belatedly realizing that there’s sweat beading his forehead when the cool air hits it.  
  
“Careful,” Erik breathes, as Charles shifts around on Erik’s lap, both knees coming up to bracket Erik’s hips. Charles forgets to reply, grips Erik’s cock, presses the head against his wet hole. “Watch your head.”  
  
“I appreciate the concern,” Charles manages, left hand tightening around the headrest, right hand fumbling as Erik’s cock slips. “But as of right now, I’m more concerned with – _oh_ ,” Charles breaks off as Erik bucks forward, hips lifting off the leather seat, his erection shifting easily into Charles.  
  
And when Charles blinks back the blur, Erik is looking back at him, and he looks shocked, expression open and wondrous.  
  
“Charles,” Erik breathes and Charles plants both hands on the headrest, his elbows resting on Erik’s shoulders, widens his knees so that one kneecap bumps against the passenger door, the other pressing into the side of the center console.  
  
A short breath of air catches in Charles’ throat when Erik’s cock buries inside of him and almost immediately, Charles rolls his hips, eliciting a sharp cry from Erik and Charles’ fingers curl into claws as he rocks, hips grinding down steadily, his belly taut with pleasure.  
  
“Is that – is it good?” Charles breathes, feels the drip of sweat running down his spine and Erik tightens his hands on Charles’ hip.  
  
Erik grunts out, “Faster,” and Charles complies with a moan, grinding his pelvis in quick circles, desperate and rough.  
  
Even with the windows rolled down, the car is warm and sultry, Charles’ palm sweaty when he eventually reaches down to palm at his straining erection. “Fuck, Erik,” Charles pants, attempting to spread his knees wider but only bumping into the door and console, the friction not nearly enough, “Erik, I need – ”  
  
And Erik’s eyebrows furrow when he grips Charles’ hip tighter, his hips lifting off the seat to snap cleanly, pelvis thrusting up to meet Charles’ shallow motions and Charles feels his balls clench in anticipation.  
  
Charles cries out loudly when Erik’s cock slams against the sensitive gland at the back of Charles’ hole, his hand a blur on his cock, pumping rapidly, and when Charles’ comes he chokes out Erik’s name.  
  
Charles rides out his orgasm, hips still twitching up and down to meet Erik’s thrusts, slumps over to press his mouth against Erik’s clavicles.  
  
Erik thrusts relentlessly, his shoes planted on the floor of the car, hands like vices around Charles’ waist, his breath hot against Charles’ ear. Charles feels Erik’s hips stutter, once, twice, before falling back onto the seat in a rush.  
  
“So,” Erik rasps a moment later, lips brushing against Charles’ ear. “What did you think?”  
  
“I’d take you into the backseat if we didn’t have to go back to work,” Charles pants, reaches down without thinking to clasp his hand around Erik’s palm.  
  
Erik’s grip tightens around Charles’ hand and warmth spreads throughout Charles’ chest.  
  
“You didn’t bump your head against the ceiling,” Erik comments, and Charles lets out a rough laugh at that.  
  
Charles leans in to kiss Erik, soft and chastely. “Can I drive back?” he asks innocently.  
  
Erik snorts, reaches out to open the passenger door. “Absolutely not.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how companies actually work in real life. And I am not a scientist.


End file.
